


Love It, Hate It

by A_lee_us, AwokenMonster



Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Accusations, Anger, Bad Ending, Blow Jobs, Boat Date, Cheating, Concerts, Depression, Dick Pics, Dirty Talk, Divorce, Drinking, Emotional Manipulation, Furniture Sex, Grief, Grinding, Heartbreak, Loss, Loss of custody, M/M, Multiple Partners, Partying, Possessiveness, Public Sex, Quiet Sex, Romantic date, Sadness, Secret Relationships, Secretive Sex, Shower Sex, Smut, Unsafe Sex, Writing Session
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-20 16:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_lee_us/pseuds/A_lee_us, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwokenMonster/pseuds/AwokenMonster
Summary: George says "I love you" to his boyfriend four times. Not because he really loves one, but because he has four lovers.-or; after a bad break-up with Asia, George decides on a very dangerous method to ensure that none of those he cared about would ever leave him again.He dates every single member of Hollywood Undead.





	Love It, Hate It

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note:  
> It has been a wild three weeks of writing and working on this. Towards the end, I kinda burned out as workload began to slam down. Been a pretty shitty past week for me, too. Shit's going down at home and I want to hurl myself into the sea from stress.
> 
> I'd like to express my utmost gratitude to AwokenMonster who had contributed greatly to the making of this fic. Monster helped to write all of the mature-themed scenes and I feel that they really helped to build this fic. Bless you, Monster. And thank you for putting up with my BS writing.
> 
> I had a great time writing this - working on large writing projects is one of my favourite things to do. It was pretty darn fun to plot out the various scenes and watch them slowly build up. I did my best and I hope it is enjoyable.
> 
> I understand the recent controversy on shipping band members together and I'd like to put forth first that this is purely a work of fiction for the fandom's reading. I have no intention of bringing harm with this work. 
> 
> For new members of the fandom:  
> GEORGE RAGAN - Johnny 3 Tears (a.k.a. the oldest member of the band, the bassist, the largest/tallest)  
> DANIEL MURILLO - Danny (a.k.a Golden Beast, Danny boy, blond)  
> JORDON TERRELL - Charlie Scene (a.k.a. Del Taco, the lead rapper)  
> JOREL DECKER - J-Dog (a.k.a. Jay, the bassist, the bass guitarist, J-Pup)  
> DYLAN ALVAREZ - Funny Man (a.k.a Funny, Dyl, the Mexican, the youngest, the baritone-voiced member)
> 
> Stats:  
> Work started: 23rd January 2018  
> Work completed: 18th February 2018  
> Days elapsed: 26 days  
> Word count: 24,005 words
> 
> Leave comments and kudos if you enjoy this!
> 
> \--Alias, 18/2/18
> 
> Monster's note; Hi guys. So I wrote the smut of this fic and Alias modified my cringeworthy as hell scenes (thank fuck). Everything besides the smut is all on the lovely and talented Alias. Never thought this fic would be 24k, that's some dedication right there. Anyway, please Enjoy.

_Thursday night, 07:00 pm_

Warm hands were wandering down his back, snaking around his waist and pulling him closer. Muffled groans were lost in the darkness of the closet, two bodies panting into humid air, pressing close. They writhed in the dark, messy, fumbling, like two horny high schoolers after too much drink.

George breathed hard as he pulled back from the kiss.

The make-out session had been furious and breath-stealing - George had struggled to keep up with the aggressive movements made by the other. His entire back was damp with sweat, his arms covered in a thin sheen.

They - he and Danny - were both squeezed into the on-bus wardrobe, the door shut firmly behind them. The clothes hanging in the closet had been viciously shoved aside, becoming rumpled and creased from the desperate activity that had ensued. George was pretty sure that a hanger or two had clattered onto the base of the wardrobe, left forgotten. 

He leaned forward again, pecking Danny’s forehead lovingly, tracing the younger man’s brow with his lips. Danny hummed happily, pressing tightly against him.

“We should get going,” George whispered against Danny’s temple.

Danny groaned in protest, whining as he dragged George closer, arms now fully enclosing the taller male.

George smiled fondly, his heart melting slightly for the younger male.

Given the choice, he’d definitely stay longer with Danny in the hot, stuffy wardrobe, further exploring his body with eager hands; but the others would be wondering where they had gone and possibly find them. It would be extremely difficult to explain his interactions with the lead singer of the band.

Extremely difficult because he was dating every single other member in the very same fucking band.

“We can continue later,” George reasoned, stroking the head of blonde hair, “For now, we got to join the rest for dinner before they get suspicious.”

Danny sighed, pulling back. In the dim light - a sliver of brightness had found its way though a crack in the door, George could see that he was pouting.

“I guess,” Danny replied glumly, nodding, “Let’s go, then.”

George hummed in affirmation and, with difficulty in the confined space, turned, awkwardly reaching an arm back to unlock the door.

The lock clicked and the door swung open. The two men spilled out into the narrow hallway of the bus, blinking and dazzled by the sudden brightness.

George felt slightly relieved, breathing in deeply in the far airier room. The closet had been fun and all but it had been way too humid and stuffy. He mopped his damp forehead with his jacket, reaching to shut the closet door once more.

Danny was already grabbing a shirt and pair of pants from his bunk, heading off towards the tiny bathroom in the back to get changed.

As soon as Danny had disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him, George slid his phone out of his pocket and was greeted with five new notifications.

_Jorel: Hey, is our date tomorrow night still on?_

_Jordon: Went to the steakhouse early w/ Dy. Got tables. Get ur ass here rn._

_Dylan: Jordon told me to tell u & Danny to hurry the fuck up. Hurry the fuck up._

_Jorel: Btw, love you._

_Ava: Mommy and i went to see the eiffel tower today! I really, really liked it. She also bought me a pair of sunglasses that i like._

George smiled bitterly at the last message that he opened. He missed Ava. He missed Ava so badly.

His break up with Asia had been bad. They had fought for weeks, never sleeping together anymore - Asia would insist he take the couch or she herself would storm out to stay with the Terrells. Ava had been upset, hurt and George himself was both furious and brimming with grief.

He had loved Asia, he really did. But things had not been working out anymore.

One thing led to another and Asia had left, taking Ava with her, for Europe.

His dear, sweet daughter was miles away from him, impossibly far away to meet.

He missed Ava a lot. She had been the light of his life, his proudest achievement, his greatest love - next to Asia. He had tried to be the best father for her, quitting drinking, allowing her to play dress up with him, sitting in for her tea parties…

There was nothing he could do now to support or show his love for his daughter besides taking interest in her daily updates via text and an occasional video call.

The grief of Asia’s departure had deeply shaken him, rattling his insides, freezing up every nerve in his body, leaving him hollow, cold and lost. His heart constantly called out for Asia, begging for her to come back, wishing and wishing _so_ hard for things to return to the way they were. He couldn’t move on. He was stuck in grief - stuck longing and craving for the past.

And stuck with the irrational, deep-set fear of future losses, further grievances.

And, thus, he had made up his mind that he needed to keep everyone he loved closer than he ever had before. He couldn’t let them grow away from him, couldn’t let them leave him. Couldn’t let himself lose more people he cared about…

It had started with Jorel. Jorel was easy - he had known George for years; the two were compatible, comprehending of each other, and they deeply understood the other, were familiar with their quirks and habits.

It hadn’t taken long for George to have Jorel coming over to coddle on his couch while watching _Catch Hell_.

Slowly and meticulously, he began working on developing a relationship with all the other members of the band, ensuring that they were all snared by him, setting it into stone that they would not leave him behind like Asia had.

George quickly shot back a couple of texts.

To Jorel: _Of course & I love you too._;

To Jordon: _Can’t wait for me bby?_ ;

To Dylan: _I’m done but Dannys slow_ ;

And to Ava: _That’s nice! Do you have any pictures of the Eiffel Tower that you could send over? And I’m sure the sunglasses would look great on you._

The bathroom’s sliding door made a loud screech as it slid open. Danny emerged in a fresh set of clothing - a simple sweatshirt and black jeans. He had also tidied up his hair, combing it to be more presentable.

George smiled. The singer was incredibly attractive - with large, striking brown eyes and a sweet smile. He could not resist the urge and reached out to muss up the other male’s hair. Danny made an offended sound but didn’t resist, only pouting a little when George was done.

“Where’s Jorel?” Danny asked, glancing along the narrow hallway of the bunks section of the bus.

George shrugged. “I thought he’d come back to the bus, too, but looks like he didn’t. Maybe he’s already headed for the steakhouse.”

Danny nodded, pocketing his phone and wallet. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”

-

_Thursday night; 07:43 pm_

“Yo, fuckhead, we’re here!”

George instantly recognised Jordon’s crass hollering from the far corner of the steakhouse. He whipped towards it, a mock frown on his face, and led Danny towards the table where the other three were seated.

Several other customers had looked up and glared at Jordon for his brashness, some instantly turning to lecture their kids. George ignored them as he passed, squeezing through the crowded tables and chairs, to be reunited with the rest.

The steakhouse was a lively place - crowded, filled with incessant chattering and laughter. Conversation filled the air as tables of families and friends engaged in vivid topics amongst themselves. Servers bustled around, looking hassled but remaining friendly, dumping platters of hearty steaks and thyme onto tables.

The entire establishment smelt of grill and roasts - unsurprisingly. George felt his stomach grumble as he thought about the fat, juicy ribeye steak that he was going to order.

They were regulars at the particular steakhouse. One, because, well, they were regulars and sentimental with the place. And two, because it had some of the best steaks ever - seasoned well, slightly sweet, flavourful, with a delicious crust that added an acidic bite to the meat.

The servers were also familiar with them. Shortly after Danny and George had deposited their asses onto the chairs, a middle-aged woman with curly red hair swooped over and - with a thump - landed a tray of beer and soda on the table.

“Thanks,” Jordon smiled at the woman, who nodded and flew away to the next table to take an order.

George was seated next to Dylan, facing Jordon, Jorel and Danny - Danny directly opposite of him. He smiled warmly at his friends while he reached for his drink.

“So,” Jordon announced as he took up the menu, barely glancing at it, “Are we all getting our usuals or does anyone finally not wanna be a pussy and get the Extra Flaming Hot Double-baked Pasta?”

Jorel snorted quietly into his drink and Danny laughed.

“Why not _you_ try it, Charles?” Dylan suggested, reaching for Jordon’s drink, “Without having anything to drink.”

Jordon rolled his eyes and glanced around the table once more, his eyes settling on George. He gave George an inconspicuous little wink that went unnoticed by the rest of the band.

Oh, right. George had promised Jordon shower sex later that night.

A small smile playing on his lips, George winked back.

“I’m gonna take it that nobody is going to change up their regular order?” Jordon asked, eyeing everyone, “Okay, so Dylan and George are getting rib eye steak, Danny; grilled chicken chop with fries, no salt, and Jorel is going with a house salad and black beans.”

Dylan gasped and began clapping enthusiastically. “Oh my God! Our little Jordon can memorize all our orders!” He laughed, earning him a harsh _thwack!_ on the head with the laminated menu.

As Jordon waved a waiter over, and Jorel and Danny engaged in a conversation about some animal shelter, George caught Dylan sneaking a cheeky look at him. 

A quick glance at the others showed George that everyone else was distracted. Jordon was giving their orders to a young, new waiter, and Jorel and Danny were talking animately and excitedly with one another.

Knowing that they would not be caught, eyes carefully watching for the rest, George snuck a hand down under the table and mischievously groped Dylan’s crotch, eliciting a scandalised gasp from the Mexican.

He gripped, stifling a laugh as he watched Dylan’s face morph from mortification to horror and embarrassment. The baritone-voiced member squirmed, making a face, his brows furrowing as he reacted under George’s advances - but he made no move to stop the eldest member of the band. Thus, George took it as a go-ahead to begin stimulating the other more aggressively, setting about rubbing the other harshly.

“Anyway,” Jorel abruptly turned towards George and Dylan. George put on a composed, regular look, raising an eyebrow in interest, ready to listen to Jorel. Next to him, Dylan looked as though he had had a heart attack, flushing a brilliant red and squirming. He shoved George’s hand violently away onto his lap and tried to look normal.

Luckily, Jorel did not seem to notice anything and continued talking. “I bought some quality weed last night - dried and cured for a good time. Want to hit it up tonight?”

Dylan nodded a little too quickly - obviously trying to recover from the slight arousement that he had received earlier. “Y-yeah,” he stammered before clearing his throat, hassled, “sure.”

Jorel arched an eyebrow but didn’t comment further. Next to him, Jordon plopped back into his seat as the waiter that had been taking their orders pattered away.

“How ‘bout you, Jordon? Wanna take some _good_ medicine tonight?” Jorel asked.

Jordon looked perturbed but he kept his cool.

“No way, homie,” he said, “I’m too damn tired tonight. Wanna turn in early, y’know?”

Jorel nodded understandingly. “Sure thing,” he said, turning towards George, a brilliant smile forming on his lips, “You up?”

George smiled back but shook his head, declining politely, “No thanks. I want to hit the hay early today, too.”

“We still haven’t decided on the sleeping arrangements tonight!” Danny piqued in, “There’re two rooms - each with two singles. But we could request for a pull-out mattress to be brought into one. Who’s gonna be with who?”

George caught Jordon smirking at him and grinned back at the lead rapper. “Since Jordon and I wanna turn in early, the two of us should share a room and the rest of you can hit it up in the next room,” George reasoned. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Danny pouting slightly but chose to ignore it.

Jorel looked disappointed, too, though he masked it well, beaming back, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

The waiter came back, arms loaded with dishes which he served. It wasn’t long before all of them were tucking heartily into their food and engaging in lively conversation, poking fun at one another and catching up on the latest news.

And George might have only touched Dylan’s butt once or twice during the rest of the dinner.

-

_Thursday night, 09:57 pm_

"Kinda wish we were smoking Jorel's weed now", Jordon mused as he tugged his shirt off, flinging it onto the hotel bed. Behind him, George hopped on one leg as he struggled to pull his shoes off.

"Same, dude,” he agreed, flinging both shoes into a corner before he glanced at Jordon's semi-naked form. "But we've got better plans."

Their room was similar to many others that they had stayed in before; white walls, white sheets, a television on a counter. The lighting in the room was adequately bright without being stunning. It was a comfortable setting with its clean sheets, fresh-smelling cold air and tasteful furnishing. It was almost a pity they'd desecrate the shower like that.

Almost, but totally worth the shame.

George silently savoured the peace and privacy that he and Jordon had been blessed with.Though getting high with their buddies was an awesome idea, shower sex was a far better one.

He walked over to the television to turn it on. The device lit up and began blaring news about a government shutdown. He ignored it. Unlike Matt, he had long given up on dealing with political bullshit. He just didn't care.

Jordon cocked his head. "What's the television for?"

“Background noise,” George shrugged, pressing on the volume button, cranking the up the reporter’s monotonous announcement on stocks. "I don't need the guys to hear how I fuck you into the wall of the shower.

The younger man smirked. "They're gonna think you're really into politics."

"Better than finding out the truth?" George offered and Jordon hummed in agreement. 

"It’s funny how you slip into being my boyfriend the moment the door closes." Jordon laughed, running his hands over his bare arms.

"I'd rather slip into you,” George chuckled with a wink, to which Jordon rolled his eyes.

"I mean it. You've been giving me nothing to work with all day,” Jordon complained.

He sat down on the bed to pull his shoes off, back turned towards George.

"I winked at you? I promised you shower sex?" the older muttered to himself though he knew exactly what Jordon was talking about. He tugged his hoodie over his head and threw it on the floor before crawling over the bed to his boyfriend.

The younger male straightened his back when he felt George’s presence behind him, a grin finding its way to his mouth. It was hard to be so damn sexually attracted to someone, and not get a single bone thrown your way. Must have been like that for Jordon.

George needed the man to want him, to crave him, to love him and to miss him so much his heart ached. He wanted him to hurt when he didn't get attention, he wanted him to stay. He would never leave him, then. He smiled wickedly at the thought.

Jordon was such sap now, it’d be hard for him to leave him, wouldn’t it?

His breath tickled Jordon's neck, followed by featherlight kisses and soft nips as he cocked his head, pressing his lips against the other male’s throat. Jordon turned his head to the side, granting George more access, sinking against his chest with a low hum. "This is not the shower."

"It's not sex yet either,” the older argued, grinning against the damp skin beneath his lips. He placed a hand on the lead rapper’s waist. Jordon swallowed a lump in his throat, trying not to think about the tongue lapping at the conjunction of his neck and shoulder. It was not hard to ignore the sensations across his collarbone when George slipped his other hand into Jordon’s pants, palming his boxers.

"Believe me, I wanted to give you something to work with", George began, between neck kisses and nips. "Hard not to when I keep imagining us in the shower."

Jordon licked his lips. "Really?"

"Fuck yeah. A hot stream of water pouring over us while I fuck you into the tiles. I'd love to see you come all over the wall. Maybe I’d push you against the window instead. Bet it would be a horny as hell sight."

The younger shifted, cock hardening in his hands, just a thin layer of fabric separating them.. He ground needily into George’s hand. "It would be – ooh – nice."

"I love it when you make those little sounds,” George teased with a grin, and Jordon flushed red in shame.

"I don't. Prefer to be quiet."

"No, I really like it when you're a moaning mess. It's so fucking hot to see your self-control slip in a sexual blur, a complete lack of thoughts."

"Not a comple-…"

"My bad. A constant continuation of ‘Oh fuck me, please fuck me, I want your cock. Fuck fuck fuck’?" George smirked.

George’s voice was low and gravelly in Jordon’s ear, and the younger cursed himself for getting off to it. Everything was sending bolts and blood rushing to his nether regions, his balls tightening and cock hardening rapidly. 

The older kissed below the ear and slipped a hand inside Jordon’s boxers, fingers wrapping around the rock hard cock inside, already slick from the precum dripping from its tip, forming a damp spot in the fabric. 

"This horny already? Thought you wanted shower sex?" George mocked him as he stroked the younger male roughly.

Jordon let his head thump against George's shoulder, his eyes flickering to meet George’s for a brief moment. Jordon’s pupils were blown, eyelids heavy in a lusty daze. "Hrmmgh."

"Too much?" George teased, thumb pressing into the slit and drawing circles into the precum leaking out, spreading it around the head. He squeezed his other fingers harshly around the width of the member, earning a sharp gasp, which faded into a low, barely-audible moan. 

"You know, I like it better when you're loud."

"I like it better when you're sucking me off,” Jordon retorted, head turning to the side to kiss George's neck. He strained due to the awkward angle, but succeeded. George considered it, filling the momentarial silence with downward strokes. He tugged at the sensitive foreskin. Jordon's hips jolted in response, a hiss escaping his lips.

George pulled his hand away, wiping it clean on Jordon’s exposed stomach. The juices smeared over the unmarred white skin. Jordon made a conflicted groan - in complaint for the loss of contact with his cock, but also in excitement for the upcoming proceedings.

The older man gently shoved Jordon off him, and climbed off the bed. He observed his lover, hard and horny, groaning impatiently on the bed, before getting on his knees before Jordon.

Jordon’s legs were spread wide, and he was clad in nothing but a pair of dark blue boxers. A growing damp spot was obvious between his legs. His hair was slightly damp with sweat, and his cheeks were flushed with excitement. Lust filled his eyes. The sight of his lover looking so wanton and needy made George’s dick twitch in his pants.

"If I get you off with my mouth, you can’t swallow your noises, okay?" George proposed devlishly.

Jordon furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t want to reject George’s offer, since his head offered some amazing images of George sucking him off; licking furiously on his cock like it was a lollipop, tongue slipping roughly over the surfaces. Yeah, he liked that. The television would cover the noise, wouldn’t it?

Jordon leaned back, hands supporting his weight. "Deal."

George set to work, still on his knees, yanking Jordon’s boxers down and off from his legs, leaving the male completely exposed. The lead rapper’s rock-hard cock, dripping juices all over himself and the sheets, sprung up. Jordon closed his eyes and moaned at how great it felt to finally be freed from the confined space of his pants.

George leaned forward, hands bracing on the edge of the bed, and licked a wet stripe from the base to the tip of Jordon’s dick. He swirled his tongue around the head before he wrapped his fingers around the length again to steadily jerk him off. Jordon gritted his teeth and bucked his hips, one hand fisting the other’s hair. "Ooohh God, George, where'd you learn to give blowjobs like that?"

 _From my three other partners,_ George's mind supplied, but he pushed the thought to the back of his brain. 

He had to do this. If he wanted to keep them all close, he had to be a good boyfriend. You couldn’t be a good lover to these guys without sex every now and then. At least, George was always satisfied. He hadn't jerked himself off since he started dating them.

He licked flat across the head and wrapped his lips around it to suck. He hollowed his cheeks, slowly making his way down. Jordon tensed at the hot, wet feeling of George’s mouth and tongue sliding down the length of his cock. He inhaled sharply, choking back a groan, which drew George's attention.

The man frowned and sucked hard, pleased with the shameless moan ellicted. He moved his head back up, let the dick slip from his mouth. He couldn't keep the smug grin off his face when he looked up at his partner. "See? So much better when you're noisy."

Jordon made a face, pushing George down to his cock again with the hand on his head. "You should keep on sucking instead of talking."

George shrugged and jerked him off lazily. He swallowed the length again, bobbing his head up and down, slowly at first, but picking up a steady pace that got him a few more sighs and gasps from his partner.

Eventually, Jordon melted into a whimpering mess, groaning and moaning with every slip of the other’s tongue and lips. He bucked his hips, grasping the sheets hard with stiff fingers. The older bobbed his head more quickly, trying to draw out more sounds from the man when Jordon bit his lip.

“I- I can’t…” Jordon moaned.

George removed his mouth and looked up. "Can't what?"

His partner panted a little, mind too foggy to understand the words. The removal of stimulation cleared his thoughts a little. "Was gonna come."

"Save it for the shower,” George teased, catching the younger’s lips as he pushed himself up, getting to his feet. Jordon could taste his own bitter precum but he didn't mind, too focused on the slide of their tongues and lips. The older pulled away from him, pulling off his shirt on his way to the bathroom, and grabbing a condom from his backpack.

The news was no longer on in the background, but rather, a stupid political debate that neither George nor Jordon cared for - as much as they ought to have. Sex was more important. Right now, anyway.

George removed his belt and shimmied out of his pants, naked and hard. He cast a glance over his shoulder, catching Jordon touching himself needily as he watched, eyes half-lidded. 

"Come on." George motioned for the bathroom.

The younger climbed off the bed and made his way over to the bathroom.

The shower was fair-sized, certainly large enough for two grown men to fuck each other into oblivion. However, its sturdiness was questionable. Would the glass walls be able to support their weight? They'd take no risks and use the tiled wall for support instead. It would be mortifying to explain to the others how they broke the shower glass.

George turned on the stream of water, patiently waiting for it to warm up, while Jordon stood behind him impatiently. The younger wrapped his arms around George from behind, stroking his cock. Jordon smirked at the sight of George’s erect member. "You got off by giving a blowjob?"

George’s length was slick and the older male had to admit, Jordon observing his hard dick was pretty hot. "No. I get off on your moans and the faces you make when you're horny."

"Faces?"

"You scrunch your nose and grab me more desperately when you're close. So fucking hot."

Jordon licked his lips and followed George into the stream of hot water. It cascaded down their backs, matting their hair, spilling over the curvatures of their frames. George swallowed as he watched little rivulettes run down Jordon’s neck, across his collarbone.

They slipped against each other, hands gliding and sliding, friction reduced by the water pouring over them. George turned against Jordon, meeting his eyes, watching the little droplets caught in the other male’s lashes. Their lips met and they kissed hungrily, the shower water spilling into and out of their mouths, running down their chins, chests, legs.

George foamed a bar of soap on Jordon’s back before he rubbed the suds all over the lead rapper’s chest, abdomen, cock. He grinned, water running down his face and into his gritted teeth, as he soaped Jordon’s ass, lovingly massaging the suds in. Jordon parted his legs a little, anticipation growing each time George’s hands wandered closer to his anus.

But George abruptly removed his hands to fist his own cock with a stifled groan, extremely close. "Turn around,” he instructed gruffly, blinking in the rain of water, “think you need preparation?"

Jordon bit his lip as he turned, bracing both hands on the smooth tiled wall. His palms pressed against it and he arched back, sticking his ass out in George’s direction. "Maybe a little but I think you can skip the one finger thing."

George hummed in agreement and planted a kiss on Jordon’s offered back. He slipped two soapy fingers in between Jordon’s pale butt cheeks, circling the tight opening before he entered him. Jordon tensed at the sudden intrusion but it didn't take him long to get used to the stretch. Tiny streams of water ran down George’s fingers, slipping inside.

George curled his fingers, jamming them into the right spot for Jordon to groan into the wall. He added another finger, waiting for him to adjust before he removed them. He kissed Jordon's shoulder while he slipped on the condom and lined himself up. "You okay?”

"Y-yeah. Fuck, we should've thought of shower sex earlier."

"We could do it more often?" George offered, the tip of his cock pressed against Jordon’s opening teasingly. Jordon hummed in response, back arched so the older man could place his hands on his hips and push inside past the first bit of resistance. George did so, gripping Jordon’s hips tightly and pressing forward.

Jordon was so damn tight inside, straight up milking his cock as it was squeezed. The hot, wet tightness almost pushed George to cumming immediately. The shower made everything hotter; the water reducing resistance, making every move more sensual and graceful, allowing slides of skin against skin with little friction. 

Jordon leaned his forehead against the wall, hot breath fogging on the tiles as he panted. He groaned at the feeling of George’s large, wet dick forced inside of him, pressing against his walls.

George reached around to squeeze Jordan's neglected cock, fisting it up and down quickly, causing the younger male to stutter and moan repeatedly with heated pleasure. Jordon’s knees nearly buckled, ready to melt from the lust, but George kept him up, muscular arms uprighting him against the wall as he slowly pulled his dick out of Jordon’s tight warmth. The clenching of the younger’s insides made him groan. The running water flowed down George’s cock, spilling against Jordon’s tight, wet asshole.

George leant forward, pressing his lips, water running down them, against Jordon’s wet neck. Devilishly, he dived and latched onto Jordon’s shoulder, biting into the soft, wet skin. Jordon gasped in shock and pain, twitching hard, pressing himself up against the wall instinctively to evade the attack.

With Jordon distracted by the bite, George quickly yanked Jordon’s hips back and slammed into the younger male, cock sliding rapidly and hitting the lead rapper’s prostate before the other knew what had hit him.

“Fuck!” Jordon screamed, head throwing back. He banged his fist against the tiles in frustration, pleasure and agony. “Again! Oh my God, George, fuck me again! Please!”

George grinned as he yanked out, one hand gliding upwards to tug sharply at Jordon’s nipples. The lead rapper screwed his eyes shut, a frustrated noise escaping his lips. “George, please!”

“Beg me for it.”

Jordon whined, voice high and breathless. He whimpered again as George crushed a delicate nipple between two fingers. His dick was rock hard, weeping and spilling between his legs.

“I’ll fuck you hard till you come,” George encouraged, giving a shallow thrust to motivate his lover, “I want to hear your voice.”

Jordon almost sobbed.

“Please,” he finally begged, desperate, “Please fuck me hard! Ram your dick into me, please, please, please, oh God, George! _George!_ I want you to shove yourself all the way in and fuck me lik-”

George’s dick was also equally weeping hard. He didn’t let Jordon finish his words, bucking and thrusting into Jordon, horridly horny from his words. Jordon’s sentence was cut off into a high-pitched whine and moan.

George let his self-control slip and began thrusting in sharply; he rammed himself roughly up Jordon’s tight, slick asshole, and yanked out hard, repeating the rough motions again and again. It was fast and deep, hitting Jordon in the right spot, turning him into a complete panting and moaning mess. 

Jordon squeezed his ass around George's cock, clenching and milking the hard, stiff dick.

The older groaned, head against Jordon's back as his thrusts sped up, breath turning erratic.

Then he was coming hard. 

He thrusted one final deep shove into Jordon’s asshole, stilling. His load shot out, spilling into Jordon’s slick hole. His jaw clenched as a low, drawn-out moan slipped from his lips.

George felt almost bad for Jordon, who was so needy, so horny and hard, begging for release. He bit down hard on his lip, coming down his orgasm-dazed state to continue to pound into Jordon's sweet spot. He reached down to grasp Jordon’s wet cock, jerking it off hard while riding out the final spasms of his own orgasm.

Jordon was sent into a blissful state of climax as his body shuddered and thick splatters of cum coated the tiles. His knees gave out and George caught him, barely remaining upright himself as they both slid down to the shower floor. The older groaned and turned off the water, reaching to pull Jordon close to him, breathless.

The younger panted and hummed, satisfied. "We definitely need to do this more often."

"Fuck yeah but now we gotta clean up your cum off the wall before it dries."

Jordon whined. "No, stay."

George pulled the condom off his cock and tied it. He pressed a chaste kiss to Jordon’s lips before getting up and grabbed a washing cloth off from the floor. He carelessly swiped it over the spots on the wall. 

"Fixed it.” He muttered, chucking the cloth over his shoulder and sliding down to curl up with the sopping wet and naked Jordon still heaped on the wet floor.

"Fucking love you,” Jordon muttered against his skin.

 _Good,_ George thought darkly.

-

_Friday evening, 5:45pm_

George pressed the mask onto his face and strapped it on securely, relinquishing the familiar sense of security it gave him. All around him, the rest were doing the same - except for Jordon who was knotting his bandana behind his head.

“Aites, guys, we have a fullhouse tonight so let’s all give it our best shot, okay?” Jordon cheered, voice slightly muffled by the bandana. George nodded and gave a friendly thump to Dylan - who had been standing next to him - on the back. In turn, the Mexican shoved him roughly back.

Danny shucked his hoodie back, exposing his messy head of platinum-blonde hair. He was already sweating in the humid, warm air of backstage. With an irritable groan, he swiped a bottle sitting on the dressing room’s table and proceeded to take a long pull from it, uncaring of the others’ questioning looks.

“I’m not feeling well,” Danny reasoned grumpily when he finally pulled the bottle from his lips, “and nobody will know anyway.” Jorel sighed.

“Danny, you shouldn’t drink if you’re not feeling well, then,” the bassist shook his head, but made no move to take the bottle away from the older man. He bent down and hefted up his bass guitar, securing the strap over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Danny shrugged harshly. “Headache and I feel like shit.” His voice came out slightly breathless and raspy. Jordon frowned, setting down his guitar and crossing over to Danny, a concerned look on his face. Ignoring the sharp squeak of protest, he pressed the back of his palm firmly to the singer’s forehead.

“Your temperature’s fine,” Jordon said, voice tight, “But are you good to go for this show?”

Danny was already nodding before Jordon had finished his sentence. “Of course,” he insisted, stubbornly, “it’s our last one for this tour anyway.”

Dylan exchanged glances with George.

But there was no further action they could take for the door to the dressing room was swung open violently. Brian trooped into the room, a bulky camera in hand, straps dangling to the ground.

“Y’all up in five,” the photographer announced, jerking his head towards the door, “ready?”

“Let’s go,” Dylan called, adjusting his mask and hopping out of the room. Danny and Jordon followed quickly behind him.

George gave a small, encouraging grin to Jorel who smiled back knowingly at him.

“Can’t wait for the date later,” Jorel whispered quietly as he passed by, ensuring that the rest were out of earshot. He adjusted his guitar strap and leaned over to peck George quickly on the cheek. George smirked and gave Jorel a friendly squeeze.

“You’re gonna love it,” George promised, smiling at the lovely man before him.

The band of five stalked onto stage as the crowd cheered, screaming and hollering. Piercing whistles cut through the air as the members glanced over to the audience. The venue was packed all the way to the walls, fans squashed against one another, arms raised and cheering for them. George squinted against the bright stage lights and scanned the crowd.

Music boomed from the speakers and lights flashed.

Some audible words could be heard being called out - male fans hollered the band members’ names while female fans squealed excitedly.

George strolled to the front of the stage confidently. They had done this so many times before, it was almost second nature to him. The fans before him cheered for him, shouting for his attention. He glanced down at them and stuck a thumbs up, grinning when they freaked out and screamed louder.

Phones were raised, hands were waving.

“NEEEEEW YORK!” Jordon hollered into the microphone, his voice booming through the speakers. A drum roll ensued, followed by a mighty crash of cymbals. The crowd went wild, roaring.

Jordon stalked around the stage, confident, with the gangster swagger that George had grown fond of. The bandana-ed man could be both so sweet and sensitive, and bad assed and confident at the same time. For some reason, the traits were attractive to a certain giant of a man.

“Let’s see all of your fucking hands in the air!” Jordon cried, voice carrying far into the crowd as he thrusted his own arm into the air. George heard the all-too familiar beginning notes of _Undead_ being played behind him. The lights dimmed and flashed, strobing. The bass roared as the song began.

George caught sight of Jorel, fingers flying rapidly over his strings, readying himself in front of a microphone stand. They made eye contact and sent over knowing smiles and looks. George couldn’t wait for the show to be over so that he could whisk Jorel away on their planned date.

The last bar of the intro was coming to an end, so George took a deep breath in preparation, raising his microphone to his lips.

They kicked it off wildly, screaming and rocking hard to _Undead_. The bass guitars blared, the drums were pumped up, a hyped beat playing. The crowd went into a frenzy, chanting the lyrics along with the band, hands moving to the beat. George smiled behind his mask; the power and energy derived from the fans was amazing as usual - adrenaline was coursing through his veins. He strode confidently across the stage, rapping the familiar old-school lyrics from his days of youth.

Danny was excitedly singing his heart out into the microphone, vocals energetic and strained as he belted out the chorus, screaming for the audience “to better get up out of the way”. The lead singer was also dancing in his odd, wild way, bouncing and randomly swinging from a pose to the next. George arched an eyebrow and watched in interest for a while before deciding to give Danny’s drunken ass a break. He wandered off towards Jorel while Jordon stole the spotlight with his verse, sending the crowd into yet another screaming fit.

Jorel was diligently fingering his guitar, fingers nimbly picking the strings, the smooth rift of Undead playing repeatedly. He barely glanced up at the audience, handsome brown eyes only flickering up momentarily before he returned to being engrossed with his instrument. His dedication made George’s heart skip a little. He blanked out a little, staring and observing the grace of Jorel.

The other male had such lovely, long eyelashes, framing his beautiful brown eyes…

“...signed Charlie Scene on your girlfriend’s tits!”

George snapped to attention, yanking the microphone back to his lips to join the others in the heavy, thunderous holler of “undead”.

The song soon ended, and the band members relaxed slightly, heaving relieved breaths. Danny was already panting, pulling away from the front of the stage to grab a bottle of water concealed behind the drum kit. The lead singer looked shaky and, pale. George felt his concern spike a little. The blonde had sounded pretty bad throughout ‘Undead’ - his voice strained and rapsy, breathless, too. Danny was definitely under the weather. He mentally wished Danny to get well soon.

Jordon was addressing the crowd, thanking them from coming down, vulgarities and crass jokes spewing from his lips.

A thin sheen of sweat had begun to form on Jorel’s skin, glistening in the bright lights. The bass guitarist was taking a break, swiping a hand across his forehead, eyes trained on the crowd. His guitar was slung loosely around him.

George quickly made his way over to Jorel, who sensed his presence and turned to greet him, only to be caught off-guard by the larger man’s sudden embrace. George bear-hugged the smaller male from behind, crushing him under his arms, elicting a surprised gasp from the other.

Phones were being snatched out of bags and pictures were being snapped quickly. George only smiled, hugging Jorel tightly before letting the other go.

Jorel stumbled forward, face morphed into a outraged grin. He snorted and shook his head, rolling his eyes before readjusting his guitar strap.

Jordon’s voice rang out over the speaker system: “And you can observe those two fags over there!” to which George promptly stuck a middle finger up at the younger member. Jordon’s laughter carried across the venue.

Jordon continued to draw the crowd’s attention, hyping them up and giving them the opening talks. “New York always wonders me,” he was saying, “y’all have the best strip clubs, I’m telling.” The fans cheered and applauded enthusiastically in response, whoops and whistles cutting through the din.

With the rest distracted, George snuck a look at Jorel. Jorel looked chill and calm as normal, but on closer inspection, one could see that his cheeks were flushed slightly red. He was clearly embarrassed or excited. His eyes were also trained on George, completely ignoring the lead rapper onstage calling the shots.

George ensured that the microphone was nowhere near his mouth, letting his microphone-holding hand dangle by his side, as he spoke softly. “Too gay?” He asked jokingly.

Jorel blinked, startled, before he glanced away. “Yeah,” the gauged man muttered, “yeah.”

“Damn, you probably wouldn’t like our gay little date later,” George teased, eyes flicking over to the other three members. Fortunately, they were all out of earshot and the ruckus of the crowd melded over any of the words he uttered.

Jorel’s eyes widened momentarily, looking genuinely concerned, before he smoothed it back into his regular resting face. “Shut up,” Jorel mumbled, jerking his head towards the audience. “You know I will love it,” Jorel’s voice became barely a ghost of a whisper, “no matter what.”

George cooed internally at his lover’s hostility and embarrassment.

He glanced back to the rest, noticing Dylan ambling over to them, thumbs shoved in his pockets. In the background, Jordon and Danny were hyping up the crowd, yelling and calling out to them. The singer was informing the audience about their next few songs to be played.

“Y’all plotting something without the homie?” Dylan’s teased cheerfully, stopping between the two. A big grin was spread across his face and sweat dripped from his temples. He was bubbling with excitement, pumped from the first song of the show.

“Nah, man, just talkin’,” Jorel responded, slipping easily into his regular attitude. Dylan shrugged loosely, glancing at the crowd again before turning to Jorel, getting down onto a knee.

“Let’s do the Funny Dog, J.”

Jorel arched an eyebrow. “Really, Dyl? We aren’t that young anymore-”

“-And those three faggots there are ignoring the rest of us. Funny, stop sucking J-Dog’s dick!” Jordon called over to them. The trio whipped around to see the rapper facing them, jokingly flipping them the middle finger. The audience laughed appreciatively.

“Fuck off, Jordon,” Jorel called back, tightening his guitar strap so that the instrument laid flat against his chest. Without another moment of hesitation, he clambered onto Dylan’s shoulders, legs swinging to rest on Dylan’s chest.

“Whatever, fags,” Jordon shook his head before turning back to the audience, “The next song is from our newest album and we haven’t performed it live before…”

George tuned Jordon out, choosing only to focus on Dylan with Jorel atop his shoulders. It made his heart skip a little with devilish interest. Both were so close, such good friends, caring of one another. But neither knew that they were both dating the exact same guy. How would they respond if they knew? Would it sunder their years of friendship? Dylan could get emotional and Jorel, possessive. George licked his lips, studying the duo.

He chuckled to himself as he watched Dylan intentionally jostle Jorel about, causing the man on top to curse and clutch onto his guitar and Dylan’s shoulders. Dylan was such a good, fun-loving man, always ready to mess with others but never meaning ill. Jorel was so sensitive and easy to mess with. George was glad that both of them now belonged to him.

They were dating him. So they were his. They wouldn’t leave him. Ever. Ever, ever, ever.

The show proceeded without a hitch, ending with a flourish and a hyped performance of _Hear Me Now_.

George was thrumming with excitement. The show had gone well, very well. The fans were wild, cheering and clapping seamlessly. He loved it when the fans were happy.

And he also loved the fact that he and Jorel could go on their date in less than an hour.

“THANK YOU, NEW YORK!”

“SEE Y’ALL NEXT TIME, YOU FAGS.”

“GIVE IT UP FOR NEW YORK!”

And simply, a long, drawn out: “NEW YORK!”

Whooping and cheering burst from the audience as the lights flashed off and the band members quickly filtered off the stage.

“There aren’t any VIP stuff here, right?” Dylan quizzed, mopping the droplets of sweat beading on his face with his shirt.

“Nah, Jordon responded, squeezing past the youngest member to get into the dressing room.

They were all, once again, back in the brightly-lit backroom, everyone tired, happy and exhausted. Dylan did not waste any time, pulling off his shirt and changing into a fresh, less sweat-damp one. Jordon was calling a cab and Danny slouched on a couch, staring off blankly.

Jorel had pulled his cap off and was running his fingers through his hair, guitar discarded to one side. Their eyes met and George jokingly blew him a kiss.

A glance to the left told him that Jordon was frowning. But if the lead rapper thought anything about it, he didn’t say; instead announcing to the rest, “The cab’s coming in 5, let’s head back to the hotel.”

-

_Friday night, 11:47pm_

“You still have not told me where we’re going,” Jorel pressed, leaning his head onto George’s shoulder. The taxi was skimming the relatively uncrowded streets, the twinkling lights of New York City shooting by.

The two had returned to their hotel with the rest, only to sneak out in the cover of the night barely ten minutes after bidding goodnight to the rest. Danny had had to room with Dylan and Jordon - both who were better at dealing with fever and sickness.

“Will it kill you to not know beforehand?” George teased, gently placing his hand in the other’s lap.

He could feel driver silently judging them, eyes constantly flickering to his rear-view mirror. But he ignored him, appreciating the cab driver’s silent professionalism.

Jorel groaned. “I’m dying of curiousity,” he insisted, “You can’t not let me know. I don’t even know if I’m appropriately dressed!”

George studied Jorel’s outfit in the dim lighting of the taxi. Shadows and beams of light glanced over Jorel’s body as the vehicle passed streetlamps and brightly-lit buildings.

Jorel was in a black-and-white flannel with matching black jeans. It seemed suitable enough so he nodded and hummed in affirmation. “Mm-hm, you’re fine.”

A scowl crossed the younger male’s face. “That’s not telling me where we’re going.”

George chuckled, pulling the other man closer, his chest pressed tightly against Jorel’s back. With a sigh, he snuggled into Jorel’s shoulder and cheekily blew a puff of air against his lover’s neck, making him shudder. “It’s a surprise and you’ll love it.”

The taxi cruised to a stop and hurried clicking of seatbelts being unbuckled sounded out. The driver turned back and George handed him a twenty, telling him to keep the change.

George and Jorel spilt out onto the streets, the fresh, cold air nipping at them. Jorel took a long, deep breath, inhaling the salty tang of seawater. A strong, rippling sea breeze blew, whistling past their ears. Neither noticed the taxi quietly pulling away, off into the night.

“The sea. You brought me to the sea,” Jorel stated, “that’s what you were so excited about?”

George grinned, eyes shining. “Did you expect more?” He teased.

Jorel flushed red, turning away in embarrassment. “It’s not that! It’s just-”

“Well, there _is_ more. Lighten up, babe.” George couldn’t help but burst into laughter as he watched Jorel splutter with conflicting emotions - embarrassment, surprise and irritation.

“Lead the way,” the bass guitarist finally surrendered, huffing gruffly. In response, the older man reached over and wrapped a strong arm around him, shielding him from the windy breeze.

“C’mon,” George murmured kindly, “We’re going on something special.”

The moon was full and bright, beaming down clearly onto the streets of New York’s bayfront. There was barely a cloud hanging in the sky, and not a single cricket chirped. Flags rippled in the wind, flown high upon masts, glorious even in the darkness of the night. Dim lamps illuminated the paths.

They wandered down the path, enjoying each others’ presence, speaking few words but conveying thousands. Hands grasped gently, they eventually came upon a brightly-lit boardwalk with a thin crowd of people.

A Victorian boat, painted white with dark oak wood masts and finishing, rocked gently on the waves that lapped at its sides. Warm lighting spilt from it and gentle violin music filled the air. A ramp had been put down to shore and guests were filtering onto the vessel, chatting and buzzing with excitement amongst themselves.

Jorel was stunned. He paused his footsteps, sizing up the cruise before him.

With a short laugh, George gripped Jorel’s hand a little more tightly and steered him towards the entrance.

“Ragan,” he told the crew member who stood by the ramp, a white book of names in hand. Upon finding a match, the smartly-dressed staff nodded and ushered them up the ramp.

Glass tables and stylish wooden chairs were arranged neatly on the deck, the flames of tea lights flickering in the sea breeze. An antique-looking bar sat off one corner. Some guests had seated themselves comfortably at the tables or at the bar, gently sipping from crystal glasses; while the others flocked to the hull, posing for Instagram-worthy pictures with the sea and far-away lights of New York City as a background.

“What the fuck,” Jorel breathed.

“Language,” George chided, smiling, “We’re classy now.” All he got out from it was a scowl from Jorel and a gentle shove.

They chose a small, cosy table off to one side, placing their orders to a staff member who promptly disappeared and returned with a basket of fresh bread.

“This is so fancy,” Jorel began, picking a bread roll from the basket. He scrutinized the roll, turning it over in his hands. It had seeds and nuts baked into it, texture grainy and nutty under his fingers, “even the bread is fancy.” His voice was filled with wonder. 

The corners of George’s eyes twitched upwards, “but do you like it?”

Jorel hesitated, turning to scan the environment, slowly taking in and savouring the gentle, calming lull of the sea, the soothing rock of the boat, the quiet buzz of guests talking. He turned back to George. “I love it but it’s so… so sappy.”

The older man shrugged, grabbing a roll for himself. “I’ll always be sap for you,” he said, taking a bite of the roll.

The waitress who had served them returned with their drinks, the delicate crystal glasses clinking as they were set down.

Jorel poked his tongue tentatively into his glass before frowning and taking a small sip. George watched in amusement as the other male shuddered, making a face. Jorel took a couple more tiny sips before he set the glass down, nose scrunched.

“Not to your taste?” George asked.

Jorel shook his head, smacking his lips. “It’s sour as hell, but I think I kind of like it.”

George snorted and took a pull from his own drink, savouring it under his tongue.

“The sea air,” Jorel commented, “is really cooling and refreshing.”

Nodding, George reached for Jorel’s hand and lightly brushed a thumb over the other’s. “A nice late-night out with a beautiful man, I’m so lucky.”

Jorel rolled his eyes but didn’t correct him.

“Is the boat just gonna float here or are we going to-” Jorel’s words were drowned by a sudden, loud blare of a horn.

Both glanced towards the boat’s hull.

“Guess you got your answer,” George snickered.

With a cheer and applause from the patrons, Jorel and George clapping along in good nature, the boat took off from shore, sailing out into the water. It cruised slowly, gently cutting the waves. The refreshing, salty breeze blew by and the water sparkled in the moonlight.

“It’s the Statue of Liberty,” George pointed out. The monument was a looming figure, rising from the sea in the distance, proudly standing. Jorel glanced at it grinning.

“George?” Jorel began, looking anxious and shy. He fiddled with his napkin, peeking at George, “I want to thank you. This is… very elaborate and… nice. It’s nice.” He laughed nervously, “I’m not poetic enough tonight.”

“J, everything about you is poetic,” George assured him, smiling.

Jorel blushed and turned away.

He could not stop himself. His arm moved by itself, coming up, reaching across the table to gently grasp Jorel’s face, tilting it back to face him. Ignoring Jorel’s widened eyes, he leaned across the table and caught the other male’s lips in a tender kiss.

Jorel was surprised, eyebrows shooting up. But he slackened his lips after a split second, returning the kiss willfully, tongue slipping to lick at George’s lips.

It was almost magical. A beautiful, loving kiss on a romantic, cheesy date on a boat.

George’s heart soared. He smiled against Jorel and touched his own tongue to the other’s, laughing a little as it tickled and buzzed. Jorel giggled, too. They pressed their mouths together, deepening the kiss, both unwilling to part.

George’s heart pulsed with disappointment when they finally broke the kiss, pulling away to slump back into their own seats.

Both of Jorels hands shot up to cover his face as he turned red with embarrassment and shyness. Crimson creeped down his neck and up to the tip of his ears.

George stared, an image forming in his mind.

It was moments of Jorel’s reluctant weakness that sparked memory of Jordon. George smiled to himself. Jordon was similar to Jorel in a way that he was not extremely open about his true feelings, keeping the sappy things locked up tightly beneath his playful exterior. Like Jorel, Jordon’s sensitive side was sweet and beautiful...

Maybe George could take Jordon out on a similar date-

The loud ringing of his mobile phone from his jean pocket startled him and he snapped to alert, wrestling the blaring device and sending apologetic glances at the other guests. Jorel stared at him curiously though he didn’t comment, focusing on his drink.

George’s stomach dropped when he saw ‘JORDON’ flashing on his screen as the caller ID. He sucked a breath and swallowed the bile in his throat. 

“Hello?” He forced his voice steady and natural. Fuck, Jordon had probably gone looking for him and Jorel, realising that neither were in their room. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Where the fuck are you and Jorel?” Jordon’s voice was gruff and annoyed, crackling harshly through the line. George sent a panicked look at Jorel who looked confused and curious, cocking his head slightly to a side with a questioning look.

‘Charlie.’ He mouthed to Jorel before turning back to address Jordon, “Didn’t feel like sleeping so we went out to a pub--”

“Never mind that fuck, come back now. Danny’s in ER,” Jordon cut him off, a hint of bitterness running through his words. George tasted acid, anxiety building up in his chest.

“What happened?” He asked, voice strained with worry. Jorel - sensing something was up - was now seated rapt in attention, leaning forward, a frown on his face.

Voices were talking rapidly in the background over the phone, words muffled and incomprehensible. The line crackled a little before Jordon’s voice came over again, now hurried and irritated, “Fever shot sky-high. Delirious. Get your ass here, Lenox Hill Hospital. I need to call Brian. Bye.” And with that, he had hung up with a click.

George pulled the device away from his ear, staring blankly at it. Thoughts overwhelmed and swarmed his mind and his heart thudded in his chest, intestines twisting painfully.

Jordon was unhappy and possibly figuring that something was up between him and Jorel. His mind shot back to earlier after the performance when Jordon had given him a pissed-off look. And, Danny was sick enough to have to go to ER. Was he going to be okay? What had happened? He had looked pretty sick earlier that day…

“What’s going on? What happened?” Jorel asked urgently, brows knitted together and eyes brimming with concern.

George shoved his phone back into his pocket and whipped to watch the shoreline gradually growing further and further away from them. His heart thumped, blood roaring in his ears. How the fuck were he and Jorel supposed to get back to shore? The entire boat trip was to last for an hour.

“Danny’s in ER with a fever,” he said lowly, words getting stuck in his throat, “We gotta get back.”

“What?” Jorel hissed, staring at the shore creeping away, dread filling his face, “How the fuck are we supposed to get back? Is Danny okay?”

George chewed his thumb. “I’ll ask a crew member if we can take their roped speedboat back.”

Jorel frowned. “It’d cost quite a lot.”

But George was already climbing out of his seat. He shook his head. “It’s worth it for Danny. And, by the way, play it cool later on. Jordon suspects something.”

“Fuck,” Jorel muttered, “fuck, fuck, fuck all of this.”

George sighed, feeling a heaviness settle on his chest.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

-

_Saturday morning, 2:35am_

The hospital was mostly deathly silent for it was the wee hours of the morning. Quiet whispering of the nurses and the squeaking of footsteps on the cleaned floors were the only sounds that permeated the silence.

George and Jorel hurried down the corridors, turning and winding through the long hallways, following the simple sign boards with directions printed upon them. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they made their way objectively towards the wing where the others were waiting.

The waiting room-cum-lounge was quiet, too, but not as deafeaning as the rest of the establishment. Relatives murmured, concerned, amongst one another; men typed away on laptops and family members whispered urgently into their cellphones.

Dylan, Brian and Jordon were sat shoulder-to-shoulder on a couch at one corner of the room. Dylan was using his phone, tapping away at it; Brian stared at the ground; and Jordon ran his fingers through his short hair, frowning hard. They all looked up as Jorel and George approached.

“How’s Danny?” Jorel asked urgently, hovering before the rest.

Dylan looked exhausted - which was understandable, considering that it was in the early hours of the morning. He scrubbed a hand over his face with a long, drawn-out sigh that reverberated through his chest.

“He’s gotten check by the docs. They said it’s an infection from the rectal area,” Dylan explained tiredly.

George’s blood ran like ice. His mind flashed back to the aggressive sex that he had engaged in with the lead singer of the band. That couldn’t have been it, right?

But he calmed himself down and schooled his face to not betray any of his emotions. “He’ll be okay, right?” George asked.

Jordon nodded slowly. “Yeah, but he needs a few days of rest.”

“Rectal infection? How the fuck does _that_ happen?” Jorel asked, eyebrows shooting up.

George grimaced. _Jorel, shut the fuck up or Lord help me_ , he thought silently, eyeing the other male dangerously.

Brian shrugged loosely, picking up his phone and making a quick search. Barely moments later, he was thrusting the phone towards Jorel, screen displaying a Wikipedia article on it. “Looks like either Danny took a huge shit or is secretly gay.” 

George’s head was spinning. The ends of his deep, deadly secret were slowly unwounding, coming undone. Jorel and him were almost caught on a date together. Jordon was probably suspicious. Danny was ill, possibly from their rough anal sex.

There wasn’t enough concrete evidence for anyone to draw any sort of conclusion that he was dating all of them, but it was certainly a step towards his secret being unravelled.

George bit his tongue. Hard.

“So, what do we do now?” He asked, steering the conversation into another direction.

There was a pause amongst their small group. Another visitor in the room dropped their keys, the jangling, clinking noise ringing across the enclosed area.

“I don’t know,” Jordon said finally, “I’m gonna wait till we can see him. He’s resting now and the nurses say we can’t visit till 7:30 am.”

Jorel looked surprised then irritated. “Are you kidding me, Jordon?” Jorel scolded, a little crossly, “Head back to the hotel and rest! There’s no point staying here waiting!”

Jordon shook his head stubbornly. “I wouldn’t feel right just leaving Danny here in the hospital. I’m staying,” he insisted.

“Don’t be a fucktard, Jordon,” Jorel bit, sending a pleading look towards the rest.

Brian sighed heavily and reached to pat Jordon’s shoulder. “C’mon, bro, Danny will be fine here. Your presence wouldn’t change much - he’s just sleeping anyway. And he has his phone, he can text if anything is up. We’ll come again in the morning.”

George nodded in agreement to Brian’s words. Jordon groaned.

“Okay, I guess,” he mumbled, “let’s go, then.” \- 

_Tuesday afternoon, 4:14pm_

"How's Danny? Have you heard from him?" Dylan asked as he entered George's apartment.

Tour had ended only a few days prior. After two days of being confined in a hospital, Danny had finally been discharged, much to the relief of the others. They had boarded the first flight back home, exhausted and looking forward to plant themselves into their own, familiar beds.

"He messaged me last night and said that his appetite has improved,” George replied, inviting the Mexican in and offering him a seat on his couch.

Dylan flopped onto the plush sofa and groaned tiredly. "Man, it's great to be off tour."

George shut his front door and locked it before throwing a glance at the youngest member of the band. "Definitely. We deserve a break."

It was a hot and sticky afternoon, the kind that made one lazy. The bright rays of sunlight crept into George's flat through the large windows, illuminating the living room. Dylan lay down on his back, shielding his eyes from the sunlight with a forearm, while George watched him with interest, taking in the curves and bulge of Dylan’s muscles and tattoos.

"It's gonna be boring if you're gonna keep staring all afternoon,” Dylan grinned. "I'm not a museum. You're allowed to touch."

George scooted closer, seating himself next to Dylan's bent legs on the couch. He covered the smaller's hand with his own and rubbed it with his thumb.

"You just look so good like this," George commented, stroking Dylan’s hand gently.

Dylan smirked, lifting his hand from his eyes slightly, a playful look in his eyes. "You wanna get it on, don't you?"

"Always with you,” George muttered, tracing his fingers down Dylan’s clothed stomach. His hand came to rest on the Mexican’s abdomen, cupping over the hard muscle there. 

Dylan sighed softly in response, head tilting slightly to a side. He brought his hand from his face and propped it under his head. "I don't mind. Keep going."

Dylan was dressed in a green muscle shirt which hugged his figure, leaving little to the imagination. George peeled the shirt up to Dylan’s toned chest, exposing his stomach. He caressed the tanned skin with his knuckles before leaning over to kiss Dylan’s neck.

The Mexican let his head fall back further, granting George more access. Grinning, Dylan parted his knees, spreading them wide enough to allow George to kneel between them as he continued trailing feathery kisses up his neck.

George pulled back and cupped Dylan’s chin with a hand, a thumb gently brushing the soft lips. The youngest member of the band cheekily poked his tongue out and licked over George’s thumb pad, before parting his lips further to suck the digit into his mouth.

Sparks of excitement shot up George’s spine as he watched his lover suckle on his thumb like a baby. He could feel Dylan’s soft tongue swiping over the length, spit bubbling at the corner of his lips.

His thumb popped wetly out of Dylan’s mouth as he removed it, a thin strand of saliva bridging between the two.

Dylan grinned.

“Sit up,” George ordered, offering Dylan a hand. The younger grasped his hand tightly, and he yanked, tugging Dylan to sit up.

Dylan was awfully close to him now - George was still knelt between the Mexican’s parted legs. George took the opportunity to peck his lover quickly on the forehead before snaking his hands to grasp the bottom of Dylan’s shucked-up shirt, pulling it off in a quick motion.

George stripped out of his own shirt, casting it aside and wrapping his arms around the younger's naked torso as he kissed him with enough enthusiasm for both. Their teeth clashed as George mushed his face into Dylan’s, aggressively making out.

The younger groaned against his lips and pushed himself closer to George in a weak attempt to grind against George’s muscular thigh. George smirked against Dylan as he felt the other’s growing bulge rubbing against his leg.

“Turned on by kissing? What are we - high schoolers?” Laughing lightly, George gently pushed Dylan away, hands planted on his chest. Dylan whined.

“You fucking tease,” the Mexican muttered crossly, but made no effort to continue his previous motions.

The taller man parted from him to undo his belt and shuck his shorts to pool around his knees. He began to palm himself through his loose boxers to full hardness. George sat up straight on his knees, giving Dylan a clear view of his growing erection rising from the confines of his underwear as he fondled himself through the thin material.

George could feel a smirk creeping up his lips as he watched Dylan eye his hand and crotch attentively, licking his lips.

“Why not you work for it, babe?” He instructed, voice low and sultry.

He met Dylan’s hungry eyes for a split second before the younger jumped into action.

The Mexican tackled him, shoving him backwards, over onto the couch. George’s back hit the cushions and he found himself in the reverse of his and Dylan’s previous position. Now, George was lying down, with Dylan hovering over him. Dylan’s long legs were spread on each side of his torso, and the Mexican was looking down at him with a devilish smile.

Dylan clasped his knees around George's hips, cock jutting proudly between them, before he ground his hips downwards. Their clothed crotches rubbed firmly against one another and George writhed, bucking his hips.

Blood rushed to George’s lower regions as he watched the Mexican hovering over him, jaws clenched in determination as he focused on the motion of grinding his crotch down against George’s.

“Fuck, Dyl,” George praised, voice slightly breathless, “You’re great.”

Dylan beamed and ground down _hard_ , ellicting a pleasured moan from his lover.

“Do you like it when I take control?” Dylan asked, hips not slowing.

George arched an eyebrow before reaching his hands up to place them on Dylan’s hips. The Mexican gave him a questioning look.

“I still prefer it when _I’m_ in control,” George growled dangerously before he yanked the other male to lie flat upon him. Dylan’s chest hit smack against George’s and both released short groans of discomfort.

George flipped over, rolling atop his younger lover, returning to their original position. Dylan was now hovering dangerously at the edge of the couch.

Dylan tried to grasp George with frantic gestures and laboured breathing. His wide eyes met George’s, begging for attention. His back arched in a pathetic attempt to get more friction for his aching desire.

George wrestled Dylan’s pants and boxers off, shoving the heavy material off the couch and letting it heap on the ground. Dylan’s breath hitched at the feeling of his dick being exposed into the air.

Smiling, George bent down. He took his time kissing down Dylan's ribs, over the stripe of hair down to his cock. He pressed a firm kiss to Dylan’s member and looked back up.

He looked up and grinned at the younger, but Dylan’s eyes were closed gently, a tiny moan slipping out from his lips.

Annoyed, George wrapped his fingers around Dylan’s cock and pumped the length slowly up and down. Dylan instantly moved his hips, eyes fluttering open, desperately thrusting into George’s fist. But his thrusts were erratic and not in time with his partner’s pumping, so George used his free hand to push Dylan’s hips down against the couch.

Dylan protested weakly, but it faded into a short pleased moan when George pressed his thumb into the sensitive slit of Dylan’s dick.

“George… ughh… _yessss,_ ” he hissed, hands flying to shove at George’s hand which firmly held him down.

But George didn't budge. He continued to jerked Dylan off slowly, flicking his wrist each time he moved up. Dylan groaned in frustration, hips straining against George’s hand.

“Hey, Dyl,” George asked casually, hands not ceasing movement. The Mexican struggled to listen to George’s words, against the fog of pleasure clouding his mind. “Want me to suck you off?”

Dylan whined at that.

“Fucking hell, _please_.”

George winked at him before he lowered his head to suck the tip of Dylan’s erect member between his lips, tongue lapping along the vein on the underside. Dylan’s cock was stiff, standing flush and erect, fluids dripping down onto his balls. George slowly downed more of the length, lips stretching wider.

Smiling a little around Dylan’s dick, he brought both hands to pin Dylan’s hips to the couch. And then he sucked _hard_.

His hands resisted strongly against Dylan’s hips which thrusted upwards forcefully, straining against the hands pinning him down. Dylan whined high in his throat, struggling to fuck into George’s mouth, desperate.

Dylan's muscles tightened, a groan escaping his lips. He shuddered, desperate to thrust into George's mouth but his hips were grounded.

Dylan’s hands flew to reach for George’s hair, digging his fingers into the older's scalp, and attempting to force his lover further down on his dick; to release the building pit of pleasure in his stomach as George sucked him off carelessly. "George…"

The older looked up, finding Dylan's lustful gaze, eyebrows furrowed. 

"I’m gonna shoot,” Dylan moaned, “I can’t hold it ba-

George moved his head down to the base, lips enveloping Dylan’s dick completely. He relaxed his throat, feeling the thick length slide down his throat. The motion cut Dylan’s words off mid-sentence, a gasp ripping from the younger’s throat.

George removed his lips from Dylan's dick, letting it plop out of his mouth. "You were saying?" he teased.

"I wouldn't last that long,” Dylan bit his lip.

George leaned in for a peck on the lips, licking across the other's bottom lip, before he shoved his tongue down his throat. Dylan could taste his bitter juices but did not protest, welcoming George’s advances by spreading his lips.

Dylan reached down to undo George’s belt and unzip his pants, hooking two fingers into the belt loops before stripping it off, boxers sliding along. George kicked his clothing off and returned to his spot between Dylan's legs right away. Both were now naked and sweaty, smiling lustfully at one another.

The Mexican, still flat on his back, ghosted his fingers over the other's member, smiling mischievously at his partner. "Move closer a little."

George inched forward, still sitting on his knees, moving his cock towards Dylan's face. His half-hard dick had barely hung before Dylan’s eyes when the younger male darted to swallow the entire length.

With a contented sigh, George reached to cup the back of Dylan’s head, hands snaking between Dylan’s hair and the couch. He thrusted gently into Dylan’s warm mouth, tip hitting the back of Dylan’s throat.

The younger sucked him off far too slowly, lips barely working around his cock. George made an unsatisfied sound and pushed Dylan’s head upwards, forcing Dylan to take more of him; but he was mindful not to choke the other.

To his disappointment, Dylan did not speed up his sucking. In fact, his motions slowed to a stop and George’s dick sat throbbing on his tongue.

The Mexican cast a glance up, smug look in his eyes. He was teasing him.

The fucking asshole was teasing him.

"Move,” George growled, "faster."

Dylan smiled around his dick before he tugged George’s hands away from the back of his head.

The Mexican then let the dick slip from his mouth with a wet pop as the back of his head hit the couch once more. He lay comfortably beneath George, spit-slick dick hanging before his face, grinning and licking his lips. "No," he laughed.

“You fucking tease,” George muttered darkly. He reached to hook both his thumbs into the corners of Dylan’s mouth, forcing the digits between the younger’s teeth. Dylan allowed him to pry his mouth open, poking his tongue out at him with a wink.

“I can’t fuck you if I’m not hard,” George said, pressing the pads of his thumbs against Dylan’s molars, “Do it properly.”

Dylan gurgled, eyes still shining with laughter.

George took it as consent to go further and slid his dick back into Dylan’s mouth, removing his thumbs. Dylan wrapped his lips around George’s cock once more and resumed his lazy sucking.

But George was having none of it; He bucked his hips, forcing his cock in and out of the younger's mouth.

He made a few rapid thrusts, dick sliding across Dylan’s soft tongue and roof of his mouth. He pulled out shortly after and gripped the base of his dick hard, trying to stem his orgasm.

“Brace yourself on the table,” George instructed before he climbed off the couch. He bent to rifle through Dylan’s mantelpiece, pulling out a condom packet and a bottle of lubricant from the litter of pens and receipts. Behind him, he could hear Dylan complying, the coffee table creaking as a weight settled upon it.

He crossed back to where Dylan was bent forward over the dark wood table. It was a low piece of furniture - Dylan was still on his knees, ass sticking up high in the air, elbows supporting his weight against the table. The youngest member of the band winked at him and blew a kiss.

George responded by chucking the condom next to Dylan’s head and lightly smacking his ass.

He squirted some lube on his hand, coating his fingers in a sticky layer of goo, before he stood behind Dylan, one hand pressing against the small of his lover’s back. Dylan peeked behind him curiously.

He pecked the back of Dylan’s head, trailing a slippery finger down his spine to his anus, lightly brushing over it. The Mexican tensed in response.

George reached down and gave Dylan’s cock a few comforting pumps, hushing him softly. "We've done this plenty of times before. You can take it."

Dylan closed his eyes, pressing his forehead onto the wood of the table. "Yeah, I just gotta relax,” he agreed.

George squeezed Dylan’s cock appreciatively and pressed his finger into the tight ring of muscle. It dipped in, sliding into Dylan’s anus. A single finger was no problem, they'd done that plenty of times. Dylan whined in anticipation, clenching slightly around George’s digit.

George patted Dylan’s back sympathetically before he pressed another finger inside, Dylan’s opening stretching lewdly around him, opening glistening slightly with the lube. Dylan relaxed his muscles and breathed deeply.

George slowly fingered him, a continuous wet slipping of his fingers in and out, thrusting gently into Dylan’s hole.

Unlike the rest, George rarely engaged in anal sex with Dylan. Their sexual activity included more of jerking off each other or together. Sometimes George would put a finger or two up Dylan to spice things up a little; but they rarely fucked full-on.

 _Which is a pity,_ George thought, _Dylan does have the leg muscles to ride a dick well._

The younger arched his back a little. "You gotta push in a little sharper to the front," he groaned.

George repositioned his fingers, curling them towards the front, earning him a sharp moan from his partner.

"There, yeah. I like that."

The older added a third finger, thrusting the three fingers into Dylan’s now-sloppy and lubricated hole, at the requested angle, eliciting pleasured groans from the male beneath him. 

Dylan bit his lip. "I wanna feel you now."

As George reached out for the condom on the table, Dylan protested. "No. I wanna _feel_ you. You know I hate condoms.” He complained.

With a shrug, George left the foil packet on the table and squirted some lube on his cock, jerking himself off a little to spread it, before he lined himself up with the stretched opening.

Slowly, he pressed his cock into Dylan’s slightly-gaping opening, the stiff organ slowly disappearing into the hot, wet hole. Dylan was well-prepared; his walls were stretched - but not loose. There was no painful friction and it was just the right fuckable tightness.

Dylan groaned as he took George in, bucking his hips to ensure that the angle was right. He slipped a hand down to his own member, wrapping it around his own cock, and fisted it slowly. He jerked himself off to the soft slide of George’s dick into his ass until his lover was fully inserted into him.

George paused, trailing small kisses from the back of Dylan's neck to his shoulder, but the younger protested, straining against him.

"Kisses later, fuck me now."

George chuckled breathlessly in response, and thrust his hips sharply in and out, repeating the motion several times and earning a few hushed groans and sighs from the other. Dylan jerked himself off along to the rhythm of the thrusts, building up a steady climb to a mind-blowing climax. "Harder,” he moaned. 

The older repositioned himself, placing both elbows on the table next to Dylan’s sides, enveloping the younger male’s body with his own. He gave an experimental hard thrust, rapidly and forcefully sliding his dick into Dylan’s hole, slamming into the younger’s prostate. Dylan cried out and whined high, encouraging George.

He began to thrust faster and harder, quite literally fucking the other into the coffee table. The piece of furniture creaking loudly and dangerously, groaning in protest of the onslaught. Dylan screamed in pleasure, fists clenching, nails digging into his palms. He gave up jerking himself off, bringing his arm back to brace himself against the table, moaning and rocking from the force of the thrusts.

Dylan released an anguished cry, throwing his head back as he came, white splattering itself onto the bare floor and underside of the table.

The sight of Dylan coming undone was so intoxicating, it sent George right over the edge as well. He shot his load straight into Dylan’s tight warmth, feeling the younger male shudder against him as his fluids coated his insides.

George slowly pulled out, dick rapidly softening, slipping out of Dylan’s well-fucked hole. A rivulette of release trickled out; George eyed it for a few moments before he climbed off Dylan’s back and gave him a friendly smack on the bum.

With a satisfied sigh, George threw himself back onto the couch, Dylan stumbling to join him.

They both lay there, coming down from their high, panting. The afternoon might have been too sticky and warm to lie in such close contact, but it still felt amazing.

-

_Thursday afternoon, 12:03pm_

The oak wood table creaked beneath their weight, and scuffling noises plus squeaking of track shoes on the polished floor could be heard.

Danny pulled away from George, blowing loose strands of hair out of his eyes.

George leaned over the smaller sitting on top of the work table, sheets shoved roughly aside, a pencil box sent crashing on the floor. They made out roughly and messy as they'd always done: wet slides of their tongues against one another, accidental clanking of teeth in their forceful kiss, hands roaming and groping whatever they could reach.

George moved his hands down the singer's back, pulling away with a last peck on the corner of his mouth. The blonde chuckled against his skin and pressed his lips to the scruff of George's cheek, an arm looped around the small of his back to keep him secured between his legs. George rested a hand on his thigh, squeezing the jean material covering his muscles. If only he could take them off already but, no, they couldn't. Instead, George nuzzled Danny's neck, placing wet kisses along the artery there and biting softly near his collarbone.

"We really shouldn't be gettin' up to this now", Danny whispered, breath hitching slightly in a surprised sigh. "Dyl and Jordon could be here any second now."

George hummed in agreement, not ceasing his advances, dipping lower to suck on the sensitive skin there.

Danny melted in his arms, head falling back in a moan, arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close. The bite was sure to leave a mark. "Jo-Oh! Johnny, I'm serious! They could be here any time now."

George let go with furrowed eyebrows. "You know Dylan. They'll probably run late to pick up some weed from his guy. He's got a guy for everything," he rumbled.

 _Like he's got me too,_ he thought, and he bit his tongue to keep the grin off his face.

Danny opened his mouth to respond when Jordon's loud muffled laughter bombinated through the thick studio walls.

Both men locked eyes in horror. Both were dishevelled, red blushes of excitement on their faces and lips swollen from their make-out session. There was a fog of arousal surrounding them; anyone present would be able to guess the… passionate happenings that had happened. George's belt was unbuckled and half the buttons on Danny's shirt undone.

"Fuck", George cussed, grabbing Danny's arm and hauling him towards the back of the studio.

The studio was a fair-sized space, cramped with couches, tables, various instruments and recording equipment. An air conditioner whirled quietly, warm lights lit up the room. The blinds were drawn tightly midway over the full-length windows. A fluffy carpet covered the floor.

Danny yelped, undignified, when George yanked him down behind the large red couch before the window. Barely in time. Just as Danny tumbled over onto George, the older man flat on his back with the singer now atop him, the door slammed open. Jordon and Dylan's voracious laughter rang out into the room. Their laughter quickly stilled as they took in the scene.

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck,_ George thought. Was their reflection in the window? Could they be seen? Fucking hell, Danny's weight was pressing firmly against his semi-hard cock. Oh God, why couldn't he take Danny home and continue their earlier session instead of hiding, mortified, behind a fucking piece of furniture?

"What the fuck!" Jordon complained. George nearly shitted himself, thinking that Jordon has spotted them. "I thought Danny and George were heading down here early! George was supposed to pick up Danny an hour ago!” The lead rapper groaned.

George let out a shaky breath of relief, trying to remain hidden. Danny leaned his head on his partner's chest, a look of pure infatuation with the other on his face mixed with a hint of fear and excitement.

"Maybe they're running late. Danny's probably still doing his fucking hair", Dylan joked, laughing at his own comment. Jordon snickered in response. The two filed into the room, door swinging shut behind them and sealing off the outer world.

Danny made a face, looking offended, and stuck out a bottom lip in a scowl. George grinned, relaxing slightly and pressing a finger to his lips.

"Im’a call Danny. You call Jorel", Dylan instructed, his phone buzzing as he keyed in the numbers. Jordon made an affirmative sound and began dialling as well.

George sent Danny a worried look, begging Danny, the Gods, and whoever was out there, that the blond’s phone was on silent mode.

The singer shrugged quietly over him, lips pulled into a shaky smile. George let his head hit the floor in relief. They just might get away, unnoticed. The feeling of his own loud heartbeat rocking his body, sent a thrill through his veins. Danny must've felt it too, gulping, equally as nervous.

Dylan and Jordon could come across them anytime. Not that Danny understood how disastrous that would be for George. Man, all hell would break loose.

The carpet tickled George's skin. Danny felt damp against him. The anxiety of being found sent bolts of electricity up his spine; but there was still the throbbing ache between his legs. Getting caught was one of the things that lowkey turned him on. Especially since he'd fucked all of the guys present in the room, and none of them were aware. Damn.

"Danny didn't pick up,” came Dylan's voice before he yawned. George lifted his head to look at Danny whose head was cocked towards the couch, listening intently. He looked like a mortified deer in the headlights. George rubbed his arm gently and reached out a hand to caress his cheek. The singer flashed him a soft smile before freezing in horror at a muffled thump horrifyingly close to them.

"Well that sucks. They're probably sucking each others' cocks", Jordon snorted, the sound so close, he could've been talking to George. Jordon was sitting on the very same fucking couch that Danny and George were hiding behind.

George could hear Jordon's breathing over the blood rushing through his ears. The man was barely inches away from them, oblivious to their position, and what had been going on before they entered. He shifted on the couch, the rumpling of fabric against fabric god-awfully nearby.

The blue masked rapper closed his eyes, certain that Jordon could hear his heart jumping back and forth in his chest cavity, like a fucked up bassline. Danny's hitched breath ghosted over George's jaw, warm and damp.

Jordon yawned loudly, and George knew him well enough to know that he hadn't bothered to cover his mouth. "What's the point of having these writing sessions here if no one turns up on time? I could've been taking a nap right now." The lead rapper complained on.

Jordon leaned back against the couch, head hitting the backrest. George could see the back of Jordon's head over Danny's shoulder, tuffs of hair sticking out from underneath a black snapback. He eyed it warily, afraid that Jordon would whip his head back and spot them. Maybe he’d yawn again, stretch a little and, just like that, George’d be fucked.

"I don't know, dude. I can't believe I'm one of the first to arrive this time. This is dope!" Dylan responded, further away from them. He was probably lying in the bean bag on the other side of the room.

"How are Anna and the pig?" Jordon asked, in a conversational tone.

Dylan laughed. "Aw, man, you should have been there last night. So Anna started feeding our little hog leftovers from her baking…"

George let his head rest against the floor, eyes fixated on the back of Jordon's head like it was the only thing that kept him from turning around. What a shitty situation. God, he'd lose either way. Jorel would arrive soon and they'd spend their time waiting on the two of them. They wouldn't leave.

He wouldn't get out of this alive.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He whipped his head down when he caught something moving in his peripheral vision. Danny was leaning in to peck his lips gently, barely a kiss: just a slight pressure of his full lips onto his own, nipping lovingly at the sensitive skin there. George's eyes darted back to Jordon's head but he hadn't moved.

The singer slid the tip of his tongue against sealed lips, requesting silently for permission; the appendage softly poking between them as he kissed George's lips more firmly. Was he fucking serious right now?

The older parted his lips, welcoming the slippery muscle into his mouth, for a passionate kiss, trying to keep the wet noises to a minimum. Danny was more careful than before, cautious and steady. Yet, George detected a hidden primal urge beneath Danny’s careful front. Just like George, he wasn't done with their earlier make out session.

George flicked his eyes up to Jordon again. He hadn't noticed a thing, just humming along to Dylan's story. Danny's kiss became less controlled and more needy.

"...and then it leapt up onto Anna's chair at the dinner table and scare the shits out of all of us…" Dylan was saying. 

Danny carefully lifted himself off George, without a sound, and crawled lower till he was out of George’s sight. George had to prop himself up on his elbows to view the younger male’s antics.

Danny peeked his head into George's sight for a second, a cheeky grin on his lips. What was he- Oh.

Danny placed a hand over his jeans, grasping the curve of his semi-hard cock.

 _Don't you dare,_ George mentally yelled, eyes burning, but Danny simply stuck out his tongue before dipping out of sight again.

George’s zipper was already undone so Danny shoved his hand down his pants and wrapped his hand around George’s member through boxers. He squeezed firmly, watching George's face contort as he held in a groan, his nerve endings ablaze. George had always wanted to do something risky like this. Get a handjob behind the two other guys that he was dating. It couldn't possibly get much hotter.

"You can't be serious!" Jordon chortled, roaring with laughter. He threw a hand over the couch, letting it dangle over. George and Danny froze. Jordon's arm hung barely inches from Danny's face.

"Yeah! Then, it followed Anna up to the shower and…"

 _Stay low,_ George mouthed to Danny. The singer nodded, and lowered himself to the ground, ducking under Jordon's free-hanging arm. He pressed his face against George's thigh, face lighting up like a Christmas tree before he cracked a shit-eating grin.

 _No, Danny, come on. It's far too risky to do this now,_ George groaned mentally. 

The singer opened the final button on his pants, and carefully freed his dick into the open air.

George was definitely not ashamed. He had had balcony sex with Jordon before. But there was still something mortifying about having his cock exposed like this. He stared at the singer with a clenched jaw.

Danny inched closer, cheek still flush against George’s upper thigh, licking his lips suggestively. He locked a hand underneath the head and gripped tightly. He exhaled softly, the breeze tickling the sensitive head, causing George to jerk his hips forward and bite down hard on his lower lip.

"...Anna was so mad! She started yelling for me and climbed into the bathtub to…"

Danny stuck out his tongue to trace the bottom of the head, up to the tip, and repeated the motion before he swirled it around the head, leaving a wet trace. George bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making any sounds. Even the slightest sigh could be a dead giveaway.

He stared hard at the back of Jordon's head, as though would keep him from going mad.

_Remember you're not alone, George, come on. Don't make a sound._

Gently, Danny coaxed George's dick towards him with a careful hand. Danny closed his lips around the tip, sucking softly, jerking his hand down to give a firm stroke. He pressed a hot tongue against George, lapping at his cock from the awkward angle. Eventually, he retracted, letting the cock slip from his mouth, settling for harshly jerking George off with quick, rough strokes. The small amount of spit slicked up George's member. 

"...We had to get this long-ass stick to poke for it from under the bathroom cabinet. It was stuck, man!"

Jordon's arm slid back up the sofa as he retracted it. He was still laughing at Dylan's tale, slapping his thigh. Danny’s eyes lit up at the sight of his sudden freedom, all too aware of the new possibilities. He sprung to his knees, pouncing for George's dick. 

George almost wished for Jordon to return to his earlier position. God, it felt so sinfully good to engage in sex in such a bad place. He clenched his jaw as Danny sunk his hungry, hot mouth over his dick, sucking _hard_ , the wet sounds covered by the talking and laughter of their friends. His warm tongue slid alongside his cock. The singer moved his head back up, tonguing the precum oozing out of the slit. George bit painfully into the back of his hand as Danny swiped his tongue over his cock. George was getting closer to the edge.

"Then I told it, 'you better stop or we'll turn you into bacon' and it actually butted me-- hold up, J's calling." Dylan suddenly dropped off from his story-telling to supposedly pick up his phone, "Hello?"

There was a pause of silence. The two secret lovers no longer had the shaky cover of their friends' laughter.

Danny made a belittling face at George, taunting him to not make a sound. He grinned wickedly and wrapped a fist around George’s cock, jerking him off with slippery, fast strokes. He nosed George’s balls lovingly, pressing his spit-slick lips to them. The older ground his teeth together, his back arching off the ground, eyes screwing shut.

"Oh damn, bro. That sucks, man. Okay, yeah, we're coming over. Yeah, sure, see you," Dylan hung up and spoke to Jordon. "J's car broke down on the way. He needs someone to help tow it for repair." Dylan explained. Jordon hummed, standing up from the sofa. The movement shoved the article of furniture slightly back, scaring George whose hands flew to Danny's head to still him. 

"Let's go get him, then," Jordon said, with a shrug. It was barely seconds before the duo had left the room, door banging shut behind them. The room was instantly plunged back into silence. George felt all the weight and strain that had settled on him suddenly evaporate.

He let out the bottled up loud moan rip through the room as Danny swallowed his entire length with a slippery, wet noise. Unable to control himself further, George dug his fingers into the singer's hair, forcing him to keep his mouth on his cock. Danny choked but gulped to relax his throat as he bobbed his head up and down quickly, eagerly swallowing George’s beading fluids. George moaned loud, desperate. He was so close, so damn close.

The blonde braced himself, jerking the length off hard and fast but keeping the tip on his tongue, to keep him from spilling anything when George came.

Even though Danny had been prepared for it, the bitter taste of the load still hit him as a surprise, leaving him coughing when he removed the cock from his mouth. George caressed his hair with half-lidded eyes, final waves of pleasure rippling through his abdomen.

"Fuck. What the actual fuck was that?" George moaned.

The singer sat on his heels, clearing his throat and holding up a hand. "That. Was hot", he croaked, coughing more but still grinning at the older.

George got up to pet his back, nuzzling his neck right below the jaw. "It's conflicting," he said.

"What is?" Danny asked.

"I kinda wanna return the favour tonight but I kinda don't because it was risky as hell."

Danny chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he got up. "Come on. They'll be back soon."

George tucked himself back into his pants, as Danny fled for the bathroom to clean himself up, door banging shut behind him.

With a snort, George lazily wandered over to the telephone set on the work table, still a little breathless and a little horny. But he ignored his urges to dial Jordon's number.

The other end was picked up after a few rings.

"Hey, Jordon's driving so it's Dylan here. Who's this?"

Danny re-entered the room, looking clean and refreshed. George smiled stupidly at him and the singer grinned back.

"It's George. Where are you guys? Danny and I just got to the studio."

Dylan groaned loudly and yelled something incomprehensive to Jordon before pulling the phone back to his ear. "Seriously? Jordon and I just left to help Jorel with his car. I think we should move the writing session to another day, man."

Danny had sidled up next to George on the table. George lovingly wrapped an arm around the frame of the singer, pulling him in so that his face nestled in his shoulder.

"Sure thing, then. See you later," George responded, hanging up. He dropped the cordless phone back onto the table, letting it clatter a few inches away. Without a moment's pause, he swung back and kissed Danny roughly, harshly biting down onto the singer’s lower lip as punishment. 

-

_Friday night, 10:10pm_

The party was thrumming with activity; music was buzzing through the air; murmuring of voices mixed with drunken giggles and whimsical laughter. The lighting was low, party-store glowsticks hanging from the ceiling.

It was Derrick’s birthday and he had thrown a full-out party at his place.

Glittery streamers laced the ceilings, some dangling loose towards the ground, and blue-and-white helium balloons drifted, knotted tightly to their stands.

The rooms of the house were packed with people - buff males in singlets, slutty chicks, drunken jocks, hip cheerleaders… People pressed against one another as they fought to move from place to place. 

George had arrived at the party alone. He had greeted the birthday boy with a friendly hug and wished him a happy birthday before moving off to find himself a drink and his bandmates.

So far, he had only found one of the two. A glass of Jack Daniel’s fitted snugly into his right hand as he observed the crowd, scanning it for any sign of his bandmates.

He did not quite like socializing in such wild parties and certainly wasn’t interesting in ininteracting with people drunk off their asses; people who slurred not only in speech but had a mental slow-down and increased reaction times.

Squeezed into a corner, he worked his phone out of his jeans pocket and flipped open the messaging app, scrolling through his chats. The surrounding party-goers paid him no heed, breezing past him as they stumbled their way about in a drunken haze. In the darkened, music-pumped room, George’ presence went wholly unnoticed.

A notification popped up and his phone buzzed. George raised an eyebrow to see a message from Jorel. He clicked on it and was pleasantly surprised by a shamleess dick pick.

It was from Jorel, flaccid, and taken with a low-quality phone camera in a bathroom - the toilet seat was visible off to the side of the photo, and the entire picture was slightly blurry. Jorel had sent, along with the dick pic, ‘where r u? Me & jr. miss u.’

George grinned and snickered. Jorel must have been wasted - there was no way he’d send dick pics while sober. Not without a lot of coaxing at least.

He quickly typed a response back: _In the living room, bby. Come look 4 me._

He sent the message and scrolled back up to study the dick pic.

He had had received plenty of penis pictures recently, especially after acquiring four boyfriends. Jordon was the worse - sending them almost regularly, enjoying showing off his girth and length. Danny preferred to take tasteful nudes, in front of brightly-lit mirrors, butt-naked. Dylan would do it ironically or for fun. But Jorel was far more cautious and careful, almost prudish.

A dick pic from Jorel was rare and to be treasured.

He eyed the picture, taking in the sight. 

It wasn’t a great photo - blurry, taken with a shaky hand, from a crap angle and poor lighting. But there was something about the honesty in the picture itself that drew him to it. The fact that it had been careful, cautious _Jorel_ who sent it warmed his heart. Wasted or not, such a moment was important to him.

He was too busy tracing the phallic shape to notice Jordon materialise next to him.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Jordon bit, voice harsh and cold.

George startled, eyes going wide. He jolted back, shocked by Jordon’s sudden appearance. A wave of emotions crashed over him - horror, guilt, anger, outrage, fright. The room suddenly felt suffocatingly airless.

Fuck, he had just been caught looking at the dick pic of someone else. Whether it implied cheating in Jordon’s mind remained a mystery to him, though, he realised with sinking anxiety, Jordon had already found things fishy.

In the dim lighting, he could see Jordon’s eyebrows knitted into a disapproving scowl, lips twisted into an unhappy frown. His eyes burned with fiery accusation. George swallowed bile.

He shoved his phone into his pocket, raising his chin and tried to speak with confidence. “Some guy drunkenly sent me a dick pic. Just came across it,” he managed out, struggling to keep his tone neutral.

Jordon didn’t buy it. His eyes darkened, lips curling into a dreadful sneer. George felt his blood run thin.

“It was Danny, wasn’t it?” Jordon spat bitterly, “You’re cheating on me with him.”

George paused.

It was almost laughable that Jordon assumed that he was nailing the lead singer behind his back. Oh, how he’d feel if he knew that George was not only seeing one but _three_ others cocurrently? And how’d he feel to find that all of them were his best friends?

The added fact that Jordon had assumed that Jorel’s dick pic belonged to Danny made things more hilarious.

“Of course not, Jordy. I would never! Why’d you think tha--?”

“Don’t bullshit me, George,” Jordon snapped, folding his arms derisively, “I know. The looks you give him. You’ve been more affectionate with him recently, too. And you guys have shared rooms more than anyone else on the last tour.”

George’s heart stopped beating. Sounds and noise ceased to exist. The abyss of dark silence was only penetrated by a single thought of: _fuck_.

Jordon’s gaze hardened. His jaw clenched. The muscles in his arms tensed.

“You’re not even gonna deny it, are you?”

At that, George furiously shook his head. He stepped forward and reached out for Jordon, heart lurching in his chest.

“Love, I haven’t been cheating on you, I swear. The only person I care for is you, Jordon. You’re mistaken - I promise you, whatever you’ve been seeing, they don’t imply anything.”

There was a momentary pause. George’s adrenaline and panic sizzled in his veins as he watched Jordon slowly take in his words, considering, tasting them. Jordon’s mouth uncurled and pressed into a thin line, eyebrows drawing together.

Jordon’s eyes finally wandered back to meet his, eyes still hard, but containing far less malice than before. His stance was also considerably less defensive, shoulders slackening slightly, and the veins on his fists were no longer as prominent.

“Prove it,” Jordon whispered, words almost lost in the background buzz of the party.

George leaned forward and gently pried Jordon’s right hand from where it had been tucked tightly under his armpits. He gripped his hand and stroked the palm tenderly with his thumb and forefinger. Soothing, slow strokes.

He held Jordon’s gaze steady, watching as Jordon’s anger slowly melded away to insecurity and anxiety, eyes warily staring back.

 _I don’t want to believe that you have been unfaithful,_ Jordon’s appearance whispered, _please prove me wrong._

_I trust you._

George licked his lips.

“Jordon, you’re my best friend, and you have been for years. There is no way I would have eyes for anyone else but you. And definitely not Danny, I have no interest in him. You need not worry about me and him. He’s just too clingy for his own good at times. But I don’t give piss shit about Danny boy, so don’t worry, Jordy.”

Jordon’s eyes softened. He looked liked a punched guinea pig.

“You swear, you absolute motherfucker?” He mumbled, voice breaking on the last words.

“With my life, dickhead,” George smiled gently.

Jordon threw himself into George’s arms and they embraced tightly. They collided hard, George stumbling backwards under Jordon’s weight. His back hit the wall but he didn’t care. Wrapping his arms around Jordon’s back, he reeled the younger male in, enveloping him in a strong, warm bear-hug. Jordon smelt of after-shave and deodorant, and his hair tickled George's nose.

Relief crashed over George as he leaned into Jordon’s nuzzling his forehead. The immense pressure and worry had been lifted, allowing sweet, cold oxygen to rush back to his lungs.

He had cut too close this time, too close to having been found out. He needed to be more careful lest similar scenarios happened.

The corner of George’s eye twitched. Keeping all four members close to him as secret boyfriends had proven far more difficult than he had thought.

_Friday night, 10:35pm_

Danny bolted.

His mind was whirling, thoughts spinning and crashing about at a meteoric pace. A hundred, thousand half-understood assumptions swirled messily in his head, not unlike the sea during a dark, heavy storm, waves crashing and choppy, winds whipping the water in all directions.

He elbowed past the party-goers, barely stopping to mumble a few half-meant apologies, shoving through to the front door of the house.

The room was suffocating, closing in on him. A vacuum sucked all the air out, leaving him breathless.

He spilt out onto the front lawn, breaking free from the confines that was the party, dashing away into the open, the sounds of the party gradually muting into a faint buzzing.

Was he crying? There was wetness trailing down his cheeks, but he couldn’t feel anything yet, how could he be crying?

He dashed out of the front gate, stumbling away from the house, feet slapping against the rough terrain as he carried himself far. Lungs burning, legs aching, he finally collapsed onto a raised portion of the sidewalk, shrouded by thick brambles and bushes, and buried his face into his knees.

Under the cover of the night, the moon shining brightly down, Danny’s body was wracked with sobs. His heart was clawing out of his chest, screaming in anger, crying in outrage, confusion. He was so cold. So, so cold. Like a bucket of ice water had been dumped mercilessly over him.

George had said that he didn’t care about him.

George was cheating on him with Jordon.

He hadn’t meant to witness it, he feverishly wished he hadn’t. He had simply been passing by while looking for the bathroom, and had found himself pushing through the flood of a crowd, in very close proximity to Jordon and George.

Delighted to have finally found his bandmates, he had intended to approach them and greet them when he had heard George’s cruelly-uttered words.

In that instant, the world crumbled away. Without a moment’s pause, Danny had vanished back into the cover of the crowd, ducking back to remain unnoticed, as his stomach lurched and he could taste vomit on his tongue.

He ground his knuckle harshly into the rough gravel, snarling as the skin broke, thin streams of blood glistening down his fingers.

He wanted to run away far, hide, hide and pretend nothing of the sort happened. Hide until he felt ready enough to deal with the bullshit. Hide until the fresh, raking clawing of grief went away. If it would. Could it? Would it ever? 

Was this shock? Was he numb? Was he sad? He couldn’t tell. His emotions felt worlds away; he could not process them. His head lolled to a side as he sat numbly on the sidewalk, breathing slowly and shallowly.

George was a fucking asshole.

How could he do that to him?

He missed George.

In what way had he failed to please George?

Was he inferior to Jordon?

What was the truth? What was a lie?

His heart thudded in his chest, the world distant, everything numb.

If he didn’t process his feelings, it would be okay… right?

“Danny!”

Danny’s head snapped up, causing some of the brambles and leaves to rustle and shake. Dylan’s voice was calling for him, sounding concerned. The baritone-voiced male was still a good distance away, calling and calling his name, searching for him.

It was highly unlikely that Dylan would be able to come across Danny’s hiding place, especially in the dark night and long, empty driveways lined with shrubbery.

Danny wanted to be left alone. He wanted Dylan to move on and not find him. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and feelings - or lack of feelings. He just wanted to hug his knees and feel numb, rocking himself gently on the sidewalk. The last thing he needed was having to explain the whole ordeal, admit that it was real, deal with the shame of being cheated on, the…

But as Dylan’s voice carried off further, apparent that he was leaving for the opposite direction, the compassionate side of Danny’s mind broke.

Without thinking, his legs rose and he pulled himself from the bushes.

He couldn’t allow Dylan to go hunting for him in the wrong direction. Couldn’t waste Dylan’s time and effort like that. He would never live himself down.

Dylan’s back was turned to him, two pigtails swinging as he turned his head about, searching for Danny.

“Dylan!” Danny shouted, his voice unnatural and high. He yelped at the loudness of his own voice. Everything was overwhelming tonight. He prayed that Dylan would hear him for he could not bring himself to draw for attention a second time. Anxiety twisted in his chest and gut, exhaustion creeped in the corners of his vision. 

The Universe must have had been apologising to him for Dylan turned instantly, locating the singer far off in the darkness. There had to be at least a good fifty metres between them.

Danny didn’t know quite what to do as the younger male began sprinting towards him, his figure increasing rapidly in size as he barrelled towards Danny.

The blond spaced out even till Dylan halted right in front of him.

Dylan’s eyes were warm and brimming with concern. The corners of his eyes were crinkled with worry lines running down to his cheeks. Surprisingly, he appeared sober, which was rare for the Mexican at a party. 

“Danny, boy, I saw you running off from the party. Are you okay, man?” Dylan asked, voice laced with worry. Danny didn't dare meet Dylan's eyes, keeping them fixed on the gravelled road, as he shook his head. 

Dylan reached over and enveloped him in a warm hug, surprising Danny a little. He tensed up before relaxing into it. He hadn't considered how much he had wanted someone to hold him tight, stop him from shaking apart from the betrayal, the horrific, painful crashing downwards of his world. He pressed into Dylan's chest, his grief bubbling in his throat, tears gathering in his eyes. 

He surprised himself when he began sobbing into Dylan's shoulder, body trembling and jerking with the force of his cries. 

He gasped and howled, he sobbed and bawled. He released long, pitiful moans, allowing the cries to scrape his chest and throat, cut through the silence of the night. He howled, wishing and pleading for the universe to hear his grief and anguish, trying to purge all the agony wracking his body. He shook and shivered violently, and felt immense gratefulness for Dylan’s tight hug. 

After a good period of sobbing, Dylan finally patted Danny's back sympathetically, rubbing his shoulders to ease the tension in them. He had begun making soothing noises, not unlike a mother calming down a baby. 

Danny continued to blubber against his chest as Dylan eased him down, back onto the sidewalk. They sat on the rough, raised platform, still embracing tightly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dylan tried, pulling back slightly to study his blond friend. The singer’s face was splotchy and red, tear stains tracking down his face. 

Danny quickly pulled away, bringing his hands up to furiously wipe at his eyes, brushing his tears away aggressively. 

He sniffled, choking in deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself, smooth out the tremble in his voice, swallowing the pained gasps and sobs. 

“It feels like the world is falling apart for me, Dyl. It hurts, it hurts so much. I don't want to accept that it happened. I can't believe it happened. It cannot he true. I don't want it to be true,” the singer stammered, voice shaking, a sob bursting out in the middle, “I’ve… I’ve been dating someone special for months and I really, really loved them. But they're a cheating asshole.” The last line was spat bitterly. 

Dylan’s eyes widened and he reached out to put a protective arm around the blond.

“Danny, I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Dylan whispered, patting Danny's back hard, “That bitch doesn't fucking deserve you, man, you're one of the nicest people I've ever met.”

Danny burst out crying at that, startling his long-haired friend. Dylan hovered awkwardly over the singer, unsure on how to proceed. 

“T-they were my light of my life,” Danny managed out, warm, wet tears spilling from misty brown eyes, “A-and they ain’t a bitch. Th-they were special, they were good. This couldn’t have happened. I can’t believe it happened. I can’t fucking believe it.” He moaned the last few lines, eyes drifting off, turning away from Dylan as his consciousness wandered.

Dylan gripped his friend’s shoulder forcefully, shaking him.

“Danny, Danny,” Dylan urged quietly, “Listen, I know they were special to you and it must hurt to be cheated on, but you cannot let it affect you too much.” The Mexican rubbed the singer’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “You’re a strong, sweet guy. She didn’t deserve you.”

Danny looked up, meeting Dylan’s eyes. Dylan was surprised to see something close to humour in the other male’s eyes. Through the haze of grief, a tiny hint of amusement - hysterical, probably - danced behind Danny’s eyes.

“It wasn’t a she,” Danny laughed bitterly, “It was a dude.”

Dylan’s jaw dropped. His mind whirled quickly at the possibilities. How had he not realised that Danny was not straight? Why had his friend not confided in him? Did Danny being accepting mean that he would approve of Dylan and George’s relationship?

“Oh… wow, Danny,” Dylan scratched the back of his neck nervously, “I… never knew. But, whoever this dude is, he’s a jerk who doesn’t deserve you.”

Danny shook his head sadly.

“Maybe I didn’t deserve him,” Danny mumbled, to which Dylan lunged forward to grasp him by both shoulders, pivoting the smaller man to face him.

“Don’t say that!” Dylan snapped, frustrated, “No cheating asshole is worth a hundred of you! Please understand that! That guy can rot in Hell. Danny, you’re the loveliest being I have ever met and a person must be insane to not love you. Am I understood?”

Danny’s eyes were blown wide, shocked by the rapper’s outburst. But he nodded along, sniffling, drying his tears.

“I’m trying to tell myself that,” Danny said quietly, “Logically I know that I did no wrong, but my emotions, every other fibre of my body, insists that this could have been saved. That something must have gone so wrong. That… everything was preventable, ya know?”

Dylan nodded firmly, wrapping a steady hand around Danny’s slight, trembly one.

“It’s okay. That’s part of the grief. After a while, you’ll learn to accept that whatever you had is over, and you’ll learn to adjust to life without him.”

Danny smiled a little. “Thanks, Dyl,” he whispered gratefully, “It… means a lot.”

Dylan returned the smile by flashing his own confident, bedazzling grin. “Anytime, bro,” he responded kindly, feeling warm and fuzzy that he could aid Danny through his grief. “And just keep away from your now-ex. Don’t stick around him no more.”

Danny blinked and stared at him. There was an uncomfortably long pause.

“I can’t,” the singer finally mumbled.

“Why not?” Dylan asked curiously, eyebrows rising slightly.

Danny hesitated, casting his eyes to the ground, fixating on a loose pebble, studying it hard. It was a long moment before he finally spoke again, uttering a single sentence, rapidly, hurriedly, so quickly and softly that the darkness of the night almost swallowed it.

“It was George.”

A bolt of icy cold shot through Dylan. He stiffened, feeling his muscles lock together, warmth leeching from every nerve. A tendon popped out on his neck. 

“What?” Dylan breathed, an uneasy feeling forming in the pit of his stomach, “That’s… that’s not possible.”

The singer glanced at him, concerned, confused, “What is?”

Dylan trembled slightly, his mouth dropping open, flapping wordlessly, unable to form coherent words.

“George… George dating you,” Dylan shook his head slowly, trying to clear his foggy mind. Sickening dread was slowly filling him, the liquid doubt coursing through his veins. “He couldn’t have. You’re shitting me, bro.”

The Mexican sent an accusatory glare at Danny who looked back, befuddled. 

“I don't get it, what's wrong?” the blond asked, face scrunching up into a confused and unhappy look.

Dylan ignored him, turning to face the darkness of the streets, focusing on the inky blackness as his thoughts swarmed, his blood sizzling in his veins. 

“Dating Danny… cheating on him with Jordon…” Dylan muttered angrily, a searing heat scouring his cheeks, hot and unbearable. With a wild, animalistic cry, Dylan swung a fist into the branches of a neighbouring bush, crashing through the wood. The branches splintered and cracked under the force, debris raining onto the pavement, leaves and fibres flying outwards. The leaves rustled noisily, as though angered and protesting the abuse. 

“Dylan?” Danny asked, panicked, concerned. 

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

The blond’s eyes widened. He reeled back, fright creeping up his spine, when Dylan abruptly pushed himself off the sidewalk, standing upright and glaring daggers into the darkness.

“Dy-”

“Fuck you, Danny,” the Mexican bit back sharply, turning away quickly. Without a second of hesitation, he stalked off back into the night, rapidly putting distance between himself and the singer, making a beeline for the party, and more specifically, George.

Danny stumbled to his feet, confused. Gnawing doubt clawed at his sides. Uncertainty drove him to briskly follow after his baritone-voiced friend, maintaining a few metres of safe distance lest he got snapped at once again. 

Dylan stormed back into the party, fists clenched tightly. His nails dug into his palms, veins popping. His teeth were gritted and grinding against each other. In his chest, his heart was thrumming away rapidly, coursing hot blood through his veins. 

It pissed him off to see the crowd of party-goers. 

Wordlessly, he shoved past the drunk, giggly idiots and elbowed his way through the crowd. Fierce eyes tracked the room, scanning intensely for any signs of the bastard that was George. 

And then there he was, at the back of the room, chatting with a gangle of random girls dressed in tight, skimpy dresses and sultry outfits. 

Footsteps heavy, landing with mighty thuds on the ground, Dylan stormed towards George. His hand landed hard, clasping George’s shoulder and wrenching him around. 

George’s eyebrows shot up at the sight of Dylan's harsh scowl. He faltered under the heat of the other man’s burning gaze. 

“George. Let's talk.” Dylan growled, releasing George's shoulder and stepping back. He remembered to shoot a passing murderous look at the group of women, all who looked surprised and eagerly curious. 

Dylan ignored everyone else who gave him looks, briskly leaving the room, the house, and into the back garden. George nervously followed. 

They did not talk. Not a word spoken as they stalked in a cold silence till they arrived in the back garden, tucking themselves away in the corner of the greenery, high fences surrounding them. 

Few guests had entered the back garden: the only two others - both stoned as fuck - tripped and fell as they attempted to return into the house. 

No one but the night was there to witness their conversation. 

“Dyla-?” George began but Dylan shut him up with a swipe of his hand. 

“George, tell me honestly, have you been cheating on me with Danny?”

George’s eyebrows shot up and his heart stopped, a nasty feeling crawling up his throat. Fuck, why did everyone think that he was fucking Danny? Was it that obvious? It had already been difficult to defuse the situation with Jordon; dealing with _two_ accusations in a night was too much. Had he been that obtuse? 

“Of course not,” George said as sincerely as he could, recalling how he had done it while conversing with Jordon. He smiled gently. “I’ll never cheat on you, babe-”

“That's not what Danny said.”

Doom washed over him, and he was rooted to the ground in dawning horror.

“Danny said…?”

Dylan snarled at the look on George's face. George looked mortified, guilty and ashamed. It confirmed his worst fears and fuelled his fury. 

“Danny said you cheated on him with Jordon. But that means you cheated on me with both of them, doesn't it? Explain that to me, George.” He spat. 

The taller male faltered, taking a step back. His mind spun and whirled, desperately clawing for a way out, an explanation, a half-baked reason - anything. He was desperate. He prayed for a hole to open up beneath him and swallow him to the depths of Hell. It'd be more merciful. George hesitated, tongue heavy as stone. 

Dylan's face darkened.

“You are a fucking piece of shit.” He snapped.

From the corner of his eye, the Mexican spotted a flash of blond head peeping out from the door leading to the garden.

His blood boiled. 

“Stop hiding like a fucking pussy, Danny,” Dylan barked. Danny startled, stepping nervously out into view, hovering at the steps leading out.

George’s heart softened, and he wanted to run over to bowl Danny over with a hug. The blond looked like a kicked puppy, eyes downcast and watery. His brows were drawn and lips pressed together in a shaky line.

“Is it true?” Danny cried out, fingers tangled together, wringing his hands nervously. George winced.

He had been caught. He hadn’t realised it but he had been caught.

It served him right for being so reckless.

But all he wanted was for all of them to stay close to him, was it that hard to understand?

“I-” He stuttered flimsily, unable to defend himself. He could feel the strings that had binded him to his bandmates slowly snapping, fizzling out into a void. The metaphorical ties being broken snapped loudly in his ears.

Dylan was not having any of it.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” he barked gruffly, “You are a fucking asshole, Ragan. The ultimate piece of shit. Don’t tell me that you are also screwing Jorel-”

Dylan’s eyes widened as he suddenly shut up, mouth clamping close. George could see the inner workings of his brain churning away.

“That fucking time when Danny was in ER,” Dylan said slowly, shaking his head in disbelief, “You and Jorel…”

George couldn’t even deny it.

He couldn’t do anything but stand rock still, rooted to the ground, ice creeping up his veins, jaws locked. 

Danny whimpered, to which Dylan swung around to confront him with a pissed-off glare.

“How could you do this, Danny?” Dylan asked coldly, gritting his teeth.

The singer’s face morphed from tearful misery to shock and defensiveness. His hackles raised, eyes narrowing and hands clenching by his side. He took a derisive step forward, squaring his jaw.

“How could _I_ do what?” Danny hissed, irritated - sweet brown eyes suddenly hard and brazen, “George and I were perfectly fine together until _you_ came around. And I definitely got together with him _before you_. We have been together since a month after Asia’s departure.” The words rolled off Danny’s tongue like poison.

Dylan clenched his jaw, sending a furious look at George. “Well, then, Golden Bitch, I guess you just weren’t enough,” he shot back.

Danny stepped out into the back garden and crossed over to them, the light from the house spilling out behind him, giving an dangerous, lumbering effect.

“I thought of you as a brother, Dyl. Why couldn’t you be happy for me? You had to steal like a bitch, didn't you?” Danny cocked his head to a side, folding his arms across his chest.

George took a step back, away from his two lovers, palms and temples sweaty. As exciting and interesting as it was, he knew he was doomed. He had fucked up and was now damned. There was no weeding his way out of this. Sooner or later, Jorel and Jordon would learn this and he would be screwed.

Behind Danny, a skimpily-dressed girl drunkenly stumbled out of the doorway. The blond whipped around and gave her a death-promising glare; and she yelped and scampered away, back into the house.

Danny turned to face up to Dylan once more. The Mexican was slightly taller and straightened himself to appear more intimidating. George nervously chewed his lip: if Danny and Dylan were to brawl, both would sustain plenty of damage as they’d fight all-out and were almost equally matched in strength.

While his anxiety was heightening, George could feel his possessiveness being pleased as he watched his two lovers confront one another dangerously over him. Ultimately, they had both been his. And they couldn’t leave him like Asia, could they? He had suffered once already; there was no way he could lose two on the same night.

“Danny, just accept that you were not good enough and he came to _me_ ,” Dylan sneered.

“You’re a fucking dick; I thought stealing others’ away was beneath you.”

“You’re making yourself very punchable right now.”

George was about to step in when Jorel’s worried face appeared at the door. He paused, taking the trio in, before hurriedly jogging up towards them, a concerned look on his face.

_Oh shit._

Dylan and Danny didn’t notice Jorel, both too wrapped up in staring the other down.

The bassist dashed up to them, and quickly shoved himself between Dylan and Danny, forcing them apart with spread arms, a worried frown on his face. Looks of surprise flickered over Danny and Dylan’s faces before they melded back into anger and distrust. Dylan clenched his jaw.

“What are both of you doing?” Jorel yelled, posture defensive, knees braced, “Ally said that you guys were fighting! We shouldn't fight, we're a band!”

George silently cursed the Heavens, hurling vulgarities at God. 

“George’s been screwing all of us,” Dylan said, voice low, “You, me, Jordon and Danny here.”

“What?” Jorel’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened before the meaning of the words slowly dawned upon him. Gradually, the surprised ‘O’ of his mouth had melted into a hard, twisted line.

“You-” Jorel started towards George before he hesitated and took a retreating step back, “I-”

The bassist seemed to have difficulty wrapping his head around the notion of the situation, disbelief crossing his features, lined with growing horror. 

“All… of us?”

“Yeah,” Dylan confirmed sourly, regarding the other three with disgust.

Jorel’s eyes flickered over all their faces, scanning for cues, hunting for the slightest indication that it was all a huge joke. But the stony faces of Dylan and Danny, and the shamed look on George’s face confirmed his fear.

His mouth flapped open uselessly, incredulous, disbelieving.

George ran a hand nervously through his hair, the same hand trembling. His stomach was twisting in his gut, and his legs felt weak. The cold looks that everyone had on was causing cold to claw up his stomach, rake his throat.

“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered, unable to say anything else.

Dylan gave him a disgusted look.

“And to think I thought you and I were something special,” he said bitterly, turning his heel, “Fuck this, I don’t want to deal with this shit. I’m leaving the band. Don’t expect to see me again.”

George’s jaw dropped, his mouth going dry.

“You know what? Fuck all of you, too. I’m out,” Danny cursed, shoving past Jorel, hot on Dylan’s heels. The two stormed away, disappearing into the house party. George was stunned, numb, watching the two vanish out of sight.

Jorel raked a hand through his hair, muttering something incoherent.

George shook himself out of his stupour, turning to face Jorel, an imploring look on his face, begging silently for the younger man to be merciful, to be kind.

His heart was thumping so hard against his chest that he wanted to vomit. A sickening feeling, nausea, a sense of unwellness, was brewing in his stomach. He was so cold. All of them were leaving him. He was losing them.

Darkness was swarming before his eyes, gathering at the corners. He could visualise all of them walking away, disappearing into the distance. The images swam before him.

“Jorel-” he began.

“No.” The other male cut him off simply. George’s mouth fell shut.

He hadn’t cried in a long time - not since Asia’s departure - but he could feel a wracking cry of pain bubbling in his throat. Fresh pain laced his facial features as a tear threatened to spill.

They were leaving, they were leaving, they were _gone_.

“I…” Jorel mumbled quietly, eyes fixed on the grass underfoot. The moonlight glinted off the tears gathering in his eyes. “I thought that you were the one for me, George,” Jorel whispered quietly before he suddenly jerked to face George, eyes burning.

“How could you fucking _do this_? We drew a future together - we planned to stay together for years! I fucking _loved you_! How could you fucking do this to me?” He screamed, fire burning emblems in his words, raging and swarming. George could feel the heat radiating off Jorel. He stepped back, shocked.

“We fucked! We kissed! We loved each other!” Jorel raged, voice choking. His face was red, tears streaming down his jaw, “You are a fucking bastard!”

“J-.”

“Don’t even try, George,” Jorel shook his head aggressively, shoving both hands into his pocket, haunches rising, “Was I fun? Fun to play around with like some fucking _toy_?”

George was shaking his head quickly, denying even before Jorel had finished his sentence.

“Well it doesn’t matter, does it? I guess I was a good fuck for you to have kept me around for… what? Eleven months? Honestly, screw you, George.”

George’s knees buckled and his kneecaps hit the ground with a muffled thump. He dug his fingers into the damp, crumbly soil, breath raking like fire as he struggled to keep himself together.

It was a nightmare replaying itself - it was like Asia’s departure once again but _worse_. He didn’t even care about what others would think of him - he only wanted them back. _Needed_ them back.

Without them, who did he have?

Life echoed with hollowness and emptiness before him.

“Jorel, I fucked up,” George whispered, voice hoarse, “I fucked up, I messed up. I really didn’t mean to hurt any of you. Forgive me, please.

He met Jorel’s eyes, imploring him for help, begging and hoping for the younger male to see that he was sincerely apologetic; crying for him to see how he was struggling, drowning inside; begging for Jorel to save him from the depths of his sins and pain.

He had known Jorel for almost all his life. They had been friends for _years_. Certainly Jorel would be able to help him-

“No.” Jorel stated coldly, turning his heel. “I’m leaving the band, too. Don’t speak to me. Don’t call me. Delete my number. I never want to see you again in my life.”

George’s world was ending.

The bass guitarist stalked off angrily, aggressively wiping his tears away from his face. He didn’t look back as he entered the house once more, leaving George alone, grieving, in the darkness and emptiness of the back garden.

George didn’t know what to do.

He sat there, rocking on his knees, grovelling, burying his face in his arms as fresh tears spilt out, trickling into the grass below. He had no one.

Everything was crumbling apart. Reality was shattering before his eyes, tinkling as the fragments hit the ground.

His mind was numb and empty as he finally thought that he might as well honour Jorel’s wish of deleting his number.

Slipping his phone out of his pocket with stiff, cold fingers, he switched it on, only to be met with notifications from the Hollywood Undead group chat.

_Danny has left the group._

_Dylan has left the group._

_Jorel has left the group._

And a single message from Jordon:

_George whats going on? Why is every1 leaving?_

George howled.

**The end.**

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it! Congrats on making your way to the ending!
> 
> Thank you for reading this through and do leave kudos if you enjoyed it. Leave a comment if you will - it'd really help me improve as a writer.
> 
> Once again, many thanks must be sent to AwokenMonster's way for the effort they put in in helping me though they really didn't need to. Bless.
> 
> \--Alias, 19/2/18
> 
> P.S. This work is 24k words long because it is... (cough) (laughing at myself) pure gold.


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